


25 Days of Superbat: Christmas Edition

by LilLayneeLoo



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: 25 Day Holiday OTP Challenge, Angry Bruce Wayne, Batfamily (DCU) Bonding, Batfamily (DCU) Fluff, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Cheesy, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Morning, Christmas Party, Christmas Shopping, Christmas Tree, Clark Kent is in the Batfamily, Cute Kids, Damian Wayne is a Little Shit, Domestic Batfamily (DCU), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Family Feels, Family Fluff, First Christmas, Fluff and Humor, For Three Chapters, Good Parent Alfred Pennyworth, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Implied Sexual Content, Just Christmas and Flirting, Kid Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Minor Injuries, No Sex, OTP Feels, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Dick Grayson, Romance, Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 42,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27827830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilLayneeLoo/pseuds/LilLayneeLoo
Summary: A series of one-shots, linked together by Clark's determination to make Bruce a Christmas person.Featuring the Batboys; my loves--Dick, Jay, Tim, and Dami. I'll have some good old Alfred in there too. Lots of Superbat fluff and Clark and Bruce being the wonderful Dads and people they are.Prompts from CardCaptorKatara on Tumblr: https://cardcaptorkatara.tumblr.com/image/103857763294
Relationships: Clark Kent & Alfred Pennyworth, Clark Kent & Martha Kent & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Martha Kent & Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Clark Kent & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Comments: 141
Kudos: 278





	1. Our First Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> I have just fallen so hard for this ship. I cannot get enough of these two idiots. 
> 
> This year has been so strange and stressful that I just want to end the year off with a nice compilation of fluffy Christmas stories because I love this season, and I love these characters.
> 
> I hope that if you're reading this, you have a safe and happy holiday season, and of course, enjoy these stories.
> 
> Much love.

Bruce was sitting at the computer in the Batcave, a thick stack of unaddressed case files next to him. He was still wearing the suit, save for the cape and cowl. His hair was tousled, a little bit longer than he usually preferred to keep it and dampened with sweat. His chiseled jawline was set in concentration, and his eyes shone with fatigue and stress. He was not wholly Batman, the cowl’s absence eliminating that particular façade, but he wasn’t in Brucie mode either, so no fake smiles or excessive flirtation. He was just himself. Just Bruce.

Clark couldn’t get enough of Just Bruce. He loved seeing him like this. 

“Hey handsome,” he teased as he approached the desk, his own cape swishing behind him as he walked. “How was it out there?”

Bruce simply grunted, maintaining his focus on his paperwork.

“That great, huh?” Clark said. He put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder as he leaned in to peck him on the cheek, smiling to himself at Bruce’s lack of reaction. 

This was typical, especially for a weeknight. Bruce was always busy with the company during the day, despite Tim’s presence, but nevertheless insisted he go on patrol in the evenings.

No one could say the Bat wasn’t persistent, but no one could say he wasn’t exhausted either.

“You look tired, sweetheart,” Clark said, pushing himself up onto the desk next to Bruce’s files. He picked up the one on top, smirking slightly as Bruce’s hands froze on the keyboard. He erased the smile as Bruce looked up at him, the signature, albeit entirely useless on Clark, bat glare trying to scare him off.

“I swear to Christ, Clark, if you mess up that folder we will not be having sex until the New Year.  _ At least _ .”

Clark laughed and shrugged off the threat, but put the folder down anyway for Bruce’s peace of mind. He jumped off of the desk and began to walk around the computer bay, touching random pieces of equipment as he moved about.

“Speaking of Christ,” Clark said, chuckling. “It’s December 1st today, Bruce. When are we going to put up decorations?”

“Decorations? What for?” Bruce responded, seemingly genuinely oblivious as to what Clark might be talking about. Clark stared at him blankly.

“Christmas.”

To this, Bruce simply grunted again, this time evoking a more offended reaction from Clark.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he said, shaking his head and resuming his spot atop the desk. He stared down at Bruce a look of hurt mixed with disbelief flashed across his face. “Don’t tell me that you don’t like Christmas.”

Bruce shrugged.

“I’ve never had much of a family to celebrate it with, Clark,” he said quietly. “It’s hard to like a holiday that just reminds you of everything you  _ don’t  _ have.”

Clark looked down at him, the fake hurt gone from his face and replaced with compassion.

“Okay, I understand that,” Clark said. “But Bruce, ever since Dick came into your life...you’ve had something to be thankful for. Something to celebrate.”

Bruce nodded. 

“And I’ve done it. I’ve gotten him gifts and Alfred makes dinner, but it’s just...I don’t know. There’s just not much about it that I like. I have no traditions to maintain, really, aside from the standard. Dick already didn’t believe in Santa when I took him in, and neither did the rest of the boys as they came. Damian is too logical to have ever believed, even if Talia hadn’t stripped him of all of his childhood innocence. I don’t know, Clark, I just can’t ever see myself really getting into the holiday spirit. I’m guessing you love it though, based on your reaction.”

“I do,” Clark said. “Bruce, I understand where you’re coming from. When Pa died...well...it took the joy out of it for a few years. It felt hard to live through that day when all it reminded you of was how different it was without him there. I imagine you still feel that about your parents, because sometimes I do.”

Bruce nodded.

“But what makes it especially hard for you is your  _ lack _ of traditions. There were so many things that Ma and I did, even without Dad. For the first few years, it was so hard. But eventually it felt like we were honouring him, in a way, and the conversations shifted from ‘this is hard without him’ to ‘remember when he…’ and that was easier. B, you have a full fledged family now, especially with Dick coming back so often. Jay, Tim, and Dami are here all the time, and so am I. Alfred is here too and he  _ shares _ your memories of your parents. He would remember those traditions you may have had with them, and he would benefit from reliving them with you as much as you would.”

Bruce nodded again. Clark clapped his hands together.

“So this year,” he smiled. “Let’s bring some of your childhood traditions back to life, Bruce. Let’s bring a bit of Christmas back to Mr. Grumpy Bats. And hell, let’s make new traditions with Alfred and the boys too, so that in the future, when Alfred is gone and when you’re gone too, they have something to remember and to carry on. I know they’re kind of old now, but that doesn’t mean it will be any less special or important to them. Right?”

He took Bruce’s hand in his, gleeful as the older man rolled his eyes.

“Bruce. I’m on a mission now. By December 25th, twenty-four days after today, I will have converted you into a Christmas person.”

Bruce smiled and sighed, raising his eyebrows skeptically at Clark.

“You can try, Clark, but I’m not making any promises.”

Clark rubbed his hands together and jumped off the desk. He ran a hand through Bruce’s sweaty hair and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Okay, Mr. Grumpy Bats. I’m going to change and go up to bed. And, I didn’t mess up your folder so…”

He winked and walked away, red cape billowing behind him.

Bruce returned to typing for a few minutes, but by the time Clark was actually on his way upstairs, he could hear the telltale sound of the shower that indicated Bruce was going to take him up on his offer.

He smiled.

December was going to be fun.


	2. Finding a Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark takes Bruce and the boys to a tree farm the following evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually very excited for this. Thank you for your encouraging comments on the first chapter. I hope that you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

“The first step,” Clark announced loudly from the driver’s seat of his Pa’s old pick up. “Is  _ always _ to find a tree.”

They had piled into the truck at around 5 o’clock the following evening, despite it being the middle of the week. Alfred had declined the offer to participate in the collection of the tree, opting instead to stay home and out of the cold. Clark had tried to insist at first, but eventually caved, realizing that they would be forced to take two vehicles if he  _ did  _ come, and accepting the butler’s promise to “participate most enthusiastically in the decorating.”

Clark was driving, naturally--neither Bruce nor Dick had ever driven a standard vehicle, and while Clark had every faith they were capable of learning how, the truck was fragile enough already. Jason was competent on a motorcycle, but no one yet trusted him with a car; and at seventeen, Tim didn’t yet have his full license. Damian, of course, had insisted that  _ he _ could drive, but seeing as he was thirteen, that was a no.

So, Bruce had taken the passenger seat, with Damian crammed unwillingly and uncomfortably in between him and Clark. Dick, Jason, and Tim were squished together in the back.

No one in the truck was  _ nearly _ as enthused as Clark. 

Dick was fairly chipper though, to his credit, and Clark had to admit it was a bit of a relief to have someone else who was excited even if it was only one of them.

The lack of spirit didn’t deter him. Clark tuned in to a local radio station that was playing Christmas music and found himself humming along to the familiar songs. He even heard Dick hum a few times as well, but was pretty sure Jason shut him down in annoyance. Everyone else stayed quiet, but Clark didn’t mind.

He lived with the Bat Family. He was used to it.

They had to drive for almost an hour before they reached the nearest Christmas tree farm, but finally they arrived. Clark pulled in and parked as close to the entrance as he could.

“The closer you park, the less distance you have to carry it,” Clark smiled at them as they jumped out of the truck. 

Jason scoffed. “As if _ you  _ have  _ any trouble _ carrying a fucking tree.”

“Language,” Bruce snapped, glaring sideways at his second eldest son. Jason rolled his eyes and waited for Bruce to turn around, promptly sticking out his tongue and eliciting a snort from both Clark and Dick.

Clark led them happily toward the entrance to the field of towering pines, removing his gloves and reaching for his wallet as he approached the owner of the farm. Bruce reached up and lowered Clark’s hand, pulling four fifties from his own wallet and passing them over. The man looked up at him and opened his mouth as if to correct him, but Bruce cut him off.

“Keep the change.”

The man gazed at him utterly speechless, unsure how to accept a tip of almost a thousand percent on a twenty-dollar tree. Clark beamed at Bruce, then at the patron, watching patiently as he scrambled to open the gate for them.

They began to walk up a row of trees, lit festively by flanking cords of bright white, red, and green lights. Clark stopped frequently to examine potential candidates, humming and hawing over their perfections and imperfections alike. Everyone else trailed behind him, relatively disinterested. Dick at least seemed to be looking occasionally, the others weren’t even trying.

“So, you’re going to have to look at this tree in the den for the next month… if you don’t want it to be an ugly one, I suggest you start giving a crap,” Clark said, with a sweet smile. Bruce and Damian both snorted and shook their heads while Jason and Tim took off to another row. That had gotten two of them--he tried another approach for the other two. “If you don’t help me pick out a tree so help me God I will find the biggest damn tree in this field and put it up in the batcave, complete with lights, a star, and everything.”

Damian looked up at Bruce who narrowed his eyes, then sighed, examining the tree Clark was presently considering.

“Up at the top, Clark,” he said, pointing. “It has a very large patch of dead needles.”

“Unsightly,” Clark nodded. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

They meandered their way through row after row of trees. Damian slowly began to take pleasure in the task, seeing it more as an opportunity to critique the poor plants than it was to participate in a fun Christmas tradition. Clark didn’t particularly care; he and Bruce seemed to finally be enjoying themselves.

He was especially delighted when, two hours into their time on the farm and thus very near its closing, Bruce and Damian were in a  _ heated _ argument with Jason and Tim about which tree they should be taking home. Clark thought that both trees were excellent choices, so he stood back. Dick found the whole thing too hilarious to partake.

After a few minutes of heavy bickering, Bruce sighed and said, “Well, I’m not leaving this perfect one here, so if you want  _ that _ one, it can go in the den. This one is coming with me and going in the cave.”

Damian stood next to him, arms crossed. “So there.”

“Fine!” Jason said, turning to Tim. “Help me get this one out of here.”

“Uh…” Tim said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Jay, don’t we kind of have to cut it down first?”

Clark and Dick laughed at this as well, then Clark looked around to make sure that no one else was watching. He stepped up next to Tim and Jason’s tree and chopped into its trunk with his hand, cracking it almost halfway through right near the ground. One more well-aimed hit brought the tree falling down toward him, and he caught it in one hand, heaving it up onto his shoulder and smiling at the boys around him.

“Okay,” Jason said. ‘I’ll admit that that’s pretty fucking cool.”

Bruce was too busy smiling and shaking his head at Clark and his gleeful grin to ostracize Jason for his language. They took off across the field toward Bruce and Damian’s tree. Clark laid down the first one and began chopping at the second, catching it as well.

When both trees were ready to go, Clark gripped the severed trunks, one in each hand, and began dragging them along the ground toward the exit. Bruce began walking right behind him, but the other boys just stopped and stared.

Sometimes Clark forgot that they weren’t used to his strength, and a single man dragging two full-size pine trees weighted down by a fair amount of snow,  _ through _ the snow was not something you saw everyday. As they neared the exit, Clark whistled for the others to help out, still pulling both trees but at least giving the illusion that he wasn’t working alone.

As they went through the gate again, Bruce paused to thrust another two fifties into the man’s hand.

“For the second tree,” he said with a small smile, before catching up to the others.

They heaved the trees one by one up onto the bed of the truck, Dick, Clark, Jason and Bruce working together to tie them down while Damian and Tim warmed the truck up. When the bulk of it was done, Dick and Jason climbed into the back and the older men finished up.

Before they moved to climb in themselves, Bruce caught Clark off guard by pressing a kiss to his lips. Clark smiled at the cold redness of Bruce’s cheeks, grabbed his gloved hand and squeezed before walking around to the front.

Clark silently counted the day as a victory as he drove them home when he heard that Jason was not only actually  _ allowing  _ Dick to hum along to the carols, but he and Tim were even humming a few themselves.

And if Damian fell asleep against Bruce’s chest while Bruce was reaching around to hold Clark’s hand? Well, Clark counted that as a win on its own.


	3. Decorating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the boys can't agree on how to decorate the tree in the den, Clark challenges them to a tree decorating competition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fyi, I've changed this to Teen and Up because I use 'fuck.' Apparently I have a problem, because apparently I can't resist. 
> 
> Enjoy Day 3!

Bruce was  _ not _ prepared for what he saw when he walked through the front door of the manor the following evening. 

There was tinsel... _ everywhere _ . Silver, gold, red, green, blue, even a few strands of obnoxiously bright purple. Full strings, still intact, slung over statues and potted plants. Shreds of it, strewn all over the floor, a particularly decent sized pile lying at Titus’ feet. He was flopped down in the hallway looking delighted with himself, and Bruce was suddenly immensely grateful that Krypto was with Martha. 

He could hear yelling and Clark’s laughter coming from the end of the hall, and might have smiled if he wasn’t so alarmed by the explosion of colour that had been waiting for him.

He sighed, setting his messenger bag down in the hall and giving the dog’s ears a scratch, then following the trail of tinsel to the den. 

Clark was sitting cross legged on the floor by Tim and Jason’s tree, a clipboard in his hands, and a stupid grin on his face. He seemed to be working on something in front of him, but was also clearly amused by the spectacle that was their four sons. 

Alfred was sitting in his favourite chair in the corner, also smiling, silently and slowly threading pieces of popcorn onto a thin strand of red and white ribbon all while keeping an eye on the commotion in front of him. He looked at peace, which made Bruce smile too.

Jason and Tim were standing on one side of the room, holding onto and completely surrounded by boxes of red, green, and silver baubles. Damian was clutching a box of bright gold baubles and a long strand of gold tinsel tightly to his chest, and Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle at the look of sheer  _ fury _ on his face. Dick was next to him looking cross as well, though not nearly as severe as his biological son.

“You can do whatever the hell you want with your tree, Little D,” Jason cut in, interrupting Bruce’s observations. “But you’re not defiling ours with any of that golden shit.”

Tim was nodding next to him, and Alfred hummed in approval from the corner.

“Well, Todd,” Damian snarled. “If that’s the case, why don’t you go f-”

“Bruce!” Dick yelled suddenly, cutting off his little brother. “Welcome home. We’re  _ trying _ to decorate the tree, but Jason and Tim have no concept of coordinating colours!”

Clark looked up from his clipboard at Bruce and smiled so broadly he was certain his partner’s cheeks would split.

“Hey B!” He called, cheerfully. Bruce put his hands up on either side of his face, bracing himself for the walk between his arguing children. Alfred greeted him as well as he sank down onto the floor next to Clark, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Ew,” Damian said. “Father, please save the intimacy for moments when the rest of us are not around.”

Bruce and Clark both rolled their eyes and kissed again.

“Damian, I am going to kiss Clark in front of you whether you like it or not. I always have, and you’ve always pointed it out. Have I changed yet? No. Am I going to? No. Just get used to it.”

Damian scoffed. “I will never get used to it, Father. But if you insist on changing the subject, at least tell me that you agree with us on the decorating of this tree.”

“What’s the debate here?” Bruce asked, primarily looking at Clark. Immediately, the four boys launched into another argument, much to Clark’s apparent delight.

“Jason, Tim, and Alfred want to decorate the den tree with traditional colours--silver, green, and red. While Damian and Dick suggest more modern colours, albeit still drawing on some aspects of tradition-- gold, blue, and purple. They can’t agree.”

“Blue is just obviously the best colour,” Dick piped up. “So, I’m just with whoever wants blue.”

“Of course you are Dickie, cause  _ Nightwing _ is blue,” Jason sneered, shaking his head. 

“Where does Alfred stand on this?” Bruce asked, looking up and backwards toward his Butler.

“Although I am in support of either party, and believe that both have representationally valid attributes, I must admit that in my older age, I lean towards the more traditional colours. Red, Green, and Silver.”

“You’re just siding with Todd, Pennyworth,” Damian crossed his arms. “We all know he’s your favourite.”

Alfred raised his hands up in earnest. “Master Damian, I do not have a favourite. I am simply... _ old fashioned. _ ”

Bruce shook his head and smiled to himself. Then he glanced down at Clark’s clipboard, and realized what his partner was up to.

“Of course,” he muttered, nudging Clark. “Of course you’ve managed to turn this into a ‘bonding opportunity.’”

Clark shook his head and smiled. “Of course  _ you _ would call a competition a  _ bonding opportunity. _ ”

All of the boys looked up from their fight.

“Competition?” Tim asked. “What competition?”

“We like competition,” Jason said. “What are you talking about?”

Even Alfred’s interest seemed to be piqued, but that didn’t stop him from continuing to thread popcorn. 

“Well,” Clark said, gesturing to his clipboard. “I’ve sort of come up with a tree decorating competition. We  _ do _ have two trees, so why don’t the two sides of this argument each decorate their tree the way that they like? And I’ll go through and judge them after, decide which one is better.”

“No offense, C,” Dick piped up. “But we all know you’re going to go for the traditional one. You love traditional Christmas.”

Clark shook his head. “If I love traditional Christmas so much, why am I proposing a literal competition? Besides, I made several categories to score each tree on individually. I plan on setting up the white board in the cave. I can tally up your scores there.”

Damian raised one eyebrow, and Clark couldn’t help but chuckle at how much he looked like Bruce. The kid didn’t like to admit it, but he so often unintentionally took after his father. He looked over to see that Bruce had the exact same expression on his face, which made him laugh even harder. Everyone shot him a confused look but he brushed it off, not wanting to make Damian and Bruce feel self conscious.

“Okay so I was thinking that Alfred could join Jay and Tim, because obviously they all feel the same about decorations. So to even the score, Bruce has to side with Dick and Damian.”

Damian and Dick both cheered, and Bruce shot  _ them _ a confused look.

“Why the  _ hell _ do you want me on your team? I don’t know shit about decorating.”

“Duh,” the youngest said. “You’ll give us an advantage! You’re fucking the judge.”

Alfred’s mouth dropped open, and Bruce looked absolutely furious. Clark put a hand up to his mouth, stifling a laugh.

“ _ Jason!” _ Bruce snapped. “ _ This is why you need to watch your mouth! _ ”

Jason’s mouth fell open too. “How the fuck did I get dragged into this? He’s the one who said it!”

Tim put a hand over his eyes, laughing to himself along with Clark. Dick started snickering too, and eventually Jason and Dick started to chuckle despite themselves.

“Let’s just do this damn competition, okay?” Dick said. He gestured to Tim and Jay, then over at Alfred. “You guys better get ready. Team Batcave is gonna kick your asses.”

Tim stepped back pretending to be offended. Jason joined him.

“Oooh,” Tim said. “We’re  _ so _ scared, Dickiebird. We’ve got Alfred. He’s a pro at this.”

Clark smiled and got to his feet, turning around and offering Bruce a hand. He accepted, so Clark pulled him up as well.

“Okay, I’ve got a few ground rules though that I have to set first, to make sure this is one hundred percent fair. I have seen this family play video games together--I won’t have the losers claiming that they were doomed to fail because it wasn’t fair!”

The boys rolled their eyes.

“So, I am going to use my super speed and sort the Christmas decorations that Alfred and I bought into colours. Everything that is blue, purple, and gold will go to Bruce, Dick, and Damian, and everything that is red, green, and silver, will go to Jason, Tim, and Alfred. There are a few white things, so for each white item I will split it evenly in half and distribute them to each team.”

He picked up a nearby parcel with 12 white baubles. “For example, 6 of these will go to each team.”

They all nodded.

“Jason, Tim, Alfred; you will decorate this tree here, in the den. Bruce, Dick, and Damian will decorate the one in the batcave. I have an article to write for Perry tomorrow, so I’m going to go up to the bedroom and do that while you’re decorating.”

They all nodded again.

“You may not, I repeat, you MAY NOT  _ sabotage _ the other team’s tree, or  _ steal _ the other team’s decorations. I have super hearing. Whether I am upstairs or not will  _ not _ affect that super hearing. You try to sabotage or steal? I  _ will  _ hear you, and you _ will _ be disqualified.”

Clark looked over at Bruce, who glared at him. “Why are you looking at me, Clark? Jay’s just as likely to sabotage or steal as I am.”

Jason stuck his tongue out at his adoptive father. Clark ignored him and continued.

“I’ve determined that both teams must have three things on their tree. One--baubles, of some sort. Two--a garland, be it tinsel or otherwise. And three--a star on top. All elements of traditional tree decoration. Obviously, as I said before, you’re limited to the decorations you have claimed via your colour choice. If you choose to bring in external items from the house, I approve, however, again, these items must not have any negative consequences to the other team.”

Everyone nodded again.

“I’m judging you on multiple categories. First, your components, or, in other words, your ability to follow my instructions. Second, creativity. I know this isn’t really anyone’s strong suit here, so have fun with that one. Third, visual appearance. Does it look good? You could be the most creative person on the planet, but if it doesn’t look good, I won’t care. I’m a harsh critic. This is my favourite holiday. Don’t mess it up.”

Clark smirked and looked at Damian.

“By the way, I want to make it very clear. I am an  _ objective _ judge. I will  _ not _ be giving points based on who I am  _ sleeping with--I can’t believe I have to say that-- _ or who I get along with most in the field, or who has annoyed me the least recently. I will deduct and award points where I see fit.”

He noticed that Damian and Tim, in particular, were looking ready to go. Determined.

“Is this clear, then?” Clark asked, looking around the room.

“Yes, let’s get on with it!” Tim said, dramatically rubbing his hands together.

“Alright.” Clark said. It’s 5:30 now, you’ll have until 8. That’s when the food is coming.” When Bruce looked at him, he smiled. “We ordered Chinese.”

Before anyone else could say anything, Clark took off at superspeed, rapidly sorting the decorations by colour, and running several trips worth of purple, blue, and gold ones down to the cave. Then, he grabbed a comm and returned to his exact position in the den.

“Your decorations are in place. Bruce, Damian, Dick, head down to the cave now.”

He waited until he could hear them, then spoke into the comm so that his voice echoed in the cave as well as the den. “Three, two, one...decorate!”

\---

Clark went upstairs shortly after the competition had begun, pulling out his laptop and starting to work on the article. He stayed true to his word, keeping an ear on both groups as they decorated their respective trees.

He was delighted to hear that Jay’s speaker was on in the den, the three  _ choosing _ to listen to Christmas tunes while they went about their business. He was unsurprised to hear bickering coming from the Batcave while the other three argued about what to do.

A little more than an hour in, Clark startled. He could hear the opening and closing of cabinet doors in the Batcave, and suddenly became concerned that an  _ actual _ fight had broken out, especially when Titus began to bark. He grabbed the comm from the side table and flicked it on.

“Uhh, Bruce? How’s it going down there? I heard the weapons cabinet...” 

There was a shuffling noise, like someone had picked up the mic and dropped it. Then he heard “Damian, give it to me.” More scuffling, and it was Dick who answered.

“We’re fine C!” Dick said, cheerily. “Just improvising. Going to win.” More shuffling as Bruce took the comm.

“Yes, Clark, everything is fine. How much time do we have left?”

Clark checked his watch.

“It’s almost 7. You have about an hour.”

Bruce didn’t even bother responding, but clicked off the comm. Clark tuned-in to the cave and heard him turn around and say “We’ve got time. Dick, go grab the cowl.”

He shook his head, frowning to himself. He listened back into the den too, delighted this time to hear Tim and Jay duetting the cult classic, “Baby It’s Cold Outside.” Jason pretended not to be a Christmas person, but the fact he was belting out the callbacks with expert precision proved otherwise.

Clark smiled to himself, and turned his attention back to the laptop.

\-----

The next hour flew by, and before he knew it, there was a loud knock on the front door of the manor. Clark bolted downstairs, grabbing some cash from Bruce’s wallet before answering. He was greeted by a very nervous teenager, who literally said  _ nothing _ while Clark paid and accepted the food.

He brought the bag down to the dining room, setting out each individual’s order while he hummed to himself. When supper was fully ready, he retrieved the comm and called the competition to a halt.

“Your time is officially up! Come to the dining room; supper is here and ready. No peeking at the other team’s tree, either.”

He took his seat next to the head of the table, resting his chin in his hands and waiting for them to join him. Alfred, Tim, and Jason came in first, laughing and still singing “Deck the Halls.” They took their seats, and launched into an explanation of what they had used and how excited they were for Clark to see their tree.

Less than two minutes later, Bruce, Dick, and Damian strolled in as well, less excited, but a lot more smug.

“We’ve won, boys,” Dick said, spreading his arms wide and smiling cheekily. “You haven’t got a  _ prayer _ .”

Bruce nodded as he walked toward Clark, pecking his partner’s cheek and sitting down.

Clark didn’t get much chance to talk while they ate, the four boys filling most of the silence. They bickered about whose tree was going to win, and started hypothesizing what other Christmas competitions Clark might challenge them to.

When their take out was gone, and everyone was content, Clark sent them all upstairs, except Bruce and Alfred.

“I need two team representatives, but I don’t particularly want ones that might yell in my face,” he said. They had groaned and protested, but Bruce had sent them away too, threatening that if they didn’t go, he’d leave the three older boys responsible for Damian the next time Clark and he went out. This was not ideal for any of them, and so they went.

Alfred took them over to the den, Clark with his clipboard in hand. Their tree was beautiful, Clark had to admit.

The popcorn Alfred had so lovingly strung was draped all around it, hints of white and red appearing between the pieces. They matched the tinsel that had been added, a shining red that was draped twisted and intertwined with the popcorn. They had gone for all silver baubles, most of them plain, but a few boasting sparkly green Christmas shapes; trees, bells, holly, and wreaths. They had also included a few buffalo check patterned baubles, which Alfred declared “Master Tim chose in order to appeal to your affinity for flannel shirts.”

Bruce had scoffed at that, especially when Clark gave them extra points for appearance. 

“I thought you said you were going to be an  _ objective _ judge?” 

“I am being objective,” Clark said. “I’m giving them points because it looks good, not because they did it for me.”

The star was possibly Clark’s favourite part, however; it was large and silver, sparkling in the light cast by the strands of red and green bulbs.

When Clark had finished scoring their tree, the three of them made their way down to the cave. Clark almost burst out laughing when he saw the tree that was waiting for them.

He had to give them points for creativity, but…

They had entirely scrapped the blue and purple, and had just stuck with gold. And somehow, Clark wasn’t really sure how, it had quite a bit of black on it. 

“You used  _ your  _ colours,” Clark said, holding back a snort. “I can’t believe you made a _ Bat Tree _ .”

Bruce walked up to it, getting defensive.

“Hey, now, you said we should be creative, Clark. We got creative. The baubles? Smoke bombs. The garland is a spare grappling wire wrapped in gold tinsel, and you can see there are a few gold-wrapped Batarangs in there as well. The lights are a gag-gift that Dick bought me the first Christmas after he became Robin, see? They’re little bats. And the star is the very first cowl I used on patrol.”

The more Clark looked at the tree, the more he found he was incredibly impressed. It looked gaudy, he couldn’t deny that, but the sheer amount of thought and effort that had clearly gone into their creation was also undeniably charming.

And  _ so so so… _ Bruce.

If Alfred hadn’t been there, Clark might have taken Bruce on the desk right then and there. He had roped Bruce into something he was new to, possibly uncomfortable with, and his partner had met the challenge head on. This was only day two. Clark was looking forward to the rest of the month if this was the level of participation he was going to get from them all. 

He made a few notes on his clipboard, then banished Alfred and Bruce back upstairs. He told them to retrieve the boys and bring them down at exactly 9:30. By then, he’d have everything tallied up and the winner ready to announce.

He carefully considered the numbers, rubbing a few things out and smiling to himself. Then he pulled out Bruce’s clear board and drew a little scoreboard, labelling the categories, filling in the points, and tallying up the totals.

He finished just in time for the others to come down. It took Tim and Bruce less than 10 seconds to add up the scores he had written, and immediately protest.

“Come on, Clark, you can’t be serious!” Tim yelled, tugging on his hair. “We didn’t do  _ all _ of that work just for you to end this in a  _ tie _ !”

Clark smiled mischievously. He’d never admit that he’d planned this part from the start.

“I didn’t intend on this to happen, so I guess I’ll give you both an award of some sort. There are definitely things that you each did much stronger than the other team, I will say that.”

They all groaned and rolled their eyes.

“Bruce, Dick, and Damian--you lost a lot of points on appearance. Your tree is gaudy and a little obnoxious, but overall, you scored 14 out of 20. Your creativity, I’m pleased to say, was off the charts. I cannot believe you made a Bat Tree, and as corny as it is, I loved it. So, creativity wise? You guys win by a landslide.”

The three of them cheered, and Clark was pleased that at least that had made them happy.

“Tim, Alfred, Jason--you guys lost some points for creativity because, while I love a traditional tree, in comparison to your competition you were a bit lacking. However, I will say, visually your tree is  _ stunning _ . The popcorn, the lights, the buffalo check ornaments, the star--Rao,  _ the star _ , I loved it--everything. It came together really well, and you guys got so into the Christmas spirit that I think you deserve some recognition. So, I’ve given you 14 out of 20 as well.”

They cheered too, and Clark felt warm and fuzzy. He looked over at Bruce who was staring at him with a sort of fondness that he hardly ever saw. It made him blush, and especially so when Bruce pulled at the corner of his bottom lip with his teeth. He  _ knew _ that look, and suddenly very much wanted the competition to be over.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat and looking away from the distraction. “Because today was a tie, that simply means that some other time during this month of Christmas festivities, we will have to have another competition of some sort, to settle the score.”

They all nodded.

“But for now, I’m kind of exhausted,” he looked at Bruce. “I think I’m going to head up to bed.”

Bruce caught on, stretching his arms up and faking a yawn. “Me too. I’ve got a board meeting tomorrow morning.”

“No you don’t,” Tim piped up, frowning and pulling out his phone. “You-”

“Yes, I do, Tim,” Bruce said, looking sideways at him. Dick stepped forward and covered Tim’s mouth. “Can you handle patrol tonight?”

“Yes, we can, right Timmy?” Dick said, half with fondness for his little brother and half with disgust at Bruce’s clear insinuation. Tim nodded as Dick steered him toward the equipment room. Bruce took Clark by the hand as Alfred settled into his regular position at the computer, ready to guide the boys on their mission.

Clark listened in to the conversation in the next room.

_ “Timmy! When Bruce says he’s going to bed at 10, he’s not  _ **_actually_ ** _ going to bed! You’re like seventeen! You should know this!” _

_ “What?” Damian piped up. “What is Father doing then?” _

_ “Oh, he and Clark are totally going to have s-” _

_ “Paperwork!” Dick yelled, cutting Jason off. _

Unfortunately, Bruce heard him.

“Paperwork? What?” He said, turning to Clark.

“Damian asked what we’re doing,” Clark said, laughing. “Jason was going to tell him, but Dick cut him off.”

Bruce shook his head.

“We’re that obvious?” 

Clark nodded. “What do you expect, B? They’re your sons. You raised them, and trained them. They’re all detectives. Based on Damian’s earlier comment, I’m surprised he didn’t figure it out himself.”

“Well, it’s not like they don’t know it happens,” Bruce said, brushing it off. “And I’m not going to let them stop me from doing all of the things I want to do to you right now.”

\-----

A little while later, Bruce was lying snuggled against his chest, satiated and sleepy, while Clark ran a hand gently through his hair.

“Clark?” Bruce asked, quietly and muffled by Clark’s skin.

“Yeah, B?”

“The Bat Tree won, didn’t it?” 

Clark chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“You tied.”

Bruce yawned, shaking his head no.

“The Bat Tree won.”

“Okay, B,” Clark yawned himself, kissing Bruce’s head again, and closing his own eyes. “Whatever you say.”


	4. Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce gets cold supervising Clark putting up the lights, so they share a bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cute bath snuggles. *sighs contentedly*
> 
> Man I wish I wasn't so stressed out with school right now. If there are any students reading this...good luck with your work. I need some luck lmao.
> 
> But anyway.
> 
> Enjoy day four!

“Clark...you can’t be serious.”

Bruce was standing in front of the manor, bundled head to toe in his winter gear. A black heavy jacket, complemented by a tight black knit beanie. He had on black gloves as well, which bore striking resemblance to the suit’s, minus the fins. He was wearing heavy boots and a black scarf as well, wrapped around his neck and almost hiding his face as much as the cowl.

He looked positively broody, and Clark thought it was adorable from his perch on the ladder.

He was only wearing a t-shirt and jeans, unphased by the bitter Gotham weather. He was comfortable, and was certain that this was pissing his partner off. 

Clark had offered to put up the lights alone, proposing that he just fly them up and into place. Bruce, however, had insisted that he use a ladder, for fear that someone might pass by the manor and see him floating around the rooftop. Given Clark’s utter lack of experience with ladders--he had never really used one on the farm, especially not one as high as Bruce’s roof required-- Bruce had also insisted that someone supervise him. 

Alfred was busy down in the Batcave with a few winterizing tasks, readying Bruce and the boys’ equipment for colder weather patrols. Dick had headed back to Bludhaven for the weekend, his shifts at the precinct changed to nights for a few days. 

Jay was still sleeping, despite the fact that it was early afternoon, and Tim and Damian were off at the academy until at least four in the afternoon. That meant that if Bruce was insistent upon Clark having supervision, he had to bundle up and do it himself.

Thus, cold, grumpy, and impatient Bruce stood huffing and puffing out breaths of steam in the cold afternoon air.

“What do you suggest then, B?” Clark replied, smiling down at the angry black bundle. “Alfred already paid for them all, we might as well put them up!”

“I don’t need any more attention drawn to this place!”

Clark laughed.

“Oh c’mon, Mr. Grumpy-Bats. They’re just lights. It’s not like it’s uncommon. And everyone in Gotham knows who you are and where you live, and how much money you have. It’s not going to be a surprise if your house is decked out in lights.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes it will be, considering that I haven’t lit the house up for Christmas a single time over the last two decades.”

Clark hadn’t thought about it that way, but waved Bruce off anyway.

“You’re just cold, B. You can go inside if you want. Like I said, I can do this fine on my own.”

“No. You’ll fly. The lights are bad enough. No risking your identity to make this efficient.”

Clark shrugged and resumed his work.

He spent over an hour working on hanging up the first level of lights, wrapping them carefully and crisply around each window and along all of the eaves. The entryway was decked out as well, lights lining the railings up to the front door and the path down to the garage entrance. Clark also replaced Bruce’s usual outdoor lights with red and green bulbs, illuminating the entire driveway and a few spotlights on the house in Christmas colours as well.

“What’s next,” Bruce grumbled, looking up at the smattering of lights now covering his home. “Are you going to put a pair of antlers and a big red nose on the Batmobile?”

Clark’s eyes lit up, and he was about to respond when Bruce raised a menacing hand.

“Don’t you  _ dare _ touch the Batmobile.”

“I wouldn’t do  _ that _ , “ Clark scoffed. “Put there’s nothing stopping me from decorating the Aston Martin and a few others…”

“Yes there is. Me. Don’t touch my cars. You’re already defiling my house.”

Clark laughed aloud and resumed once again. After another 30 minutes or so, he glanced down at Bruce and, even from his perch two storeys off the ground, noticed that he was trembling with cold.

He smiled to himself, observing the adorably bundled bat below him. He looked at the remaining lights, then back at Bruce. Seeing that his partner was looking at the ground instead of up at him, Clark took off at super speed with several strands of lights in his arms.

He stayed true to Bruce’s wishes and did not fly, but moved at a rapid pace, distributing lights across the house and clipping them into place with care and efficiency. When he had finished, he walked back to the ladder and grabbed the sides, floating down but touching his feet to the metal rungs to make Bruce happy.

The subtle chattering of Bruce’s teeth ironically melted Clark’s heart. He walked up to him and wrapped his bare arms around his partner’s shoulders, pulling him in and tucking his head under his chin.

“You’re so cold, sweetheart,” he said, softly.

“I’m fine,” Bruce chattered, sounding less than fine and as stubborn as ever. Clark shook his head and squeezed him a little tighter. “I’m finished up there. We need to get you inside and warmed up or you’re going to get sick.”

“Says the one in the fucking t-shirt,” Bruce grumbled. Despite his protests, he was leaning into Clark’s touch and the Kryptonian’s natural body heat.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just go, okay?”

Bruce protested as Clark picked him up under his arms, flailing initially but eventually resolving to wrap his legs around Clark’s waist and hold on.

Clark took him inside and directly up to their bedroom, slowly stripping Bruce of his many layers. He was horrified to see that underneath his clothing, he was incredibly pale and pallid. He looked sickly, and his teeth were still chattering.

“You look like you’re already sick, B!” Clark said, pressing a hand to Bruce’s frozen cheek. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were so cold?”

“I’m not sick, Clark,” Bruce brushed him off, standing up. He tugged at the waistband of his pants as he made his way toward their private bathroom. “I’m just freezing. I’m going to have a hot bath.”

“Okay,” Clark said, nodding. “Do you want me to run it for you?”

“No,” Bruce said, shaking his head and shivering again. He had stripped all of his clothes off at that point, and was standing buck naked in their bedroom. “I can manage. But I’m going to go. I’m colder now that I took off my clothes.”

Clark smiled and nodded, then left the room to go downstairs.

He headed straight for the kitchen, digging through the pantry to find the ingredients that he needed. He whistled to himself, hearing the bath water running from upstairs and setting to work.

He chopped some apples and a few sticks of cinnamon. He retrieved sugar and a few other classic Christmas spices, and simmered them all together on the stove. Just over half an hour later, he had produced three fresh cups of hot apple cider, complete with cinnamon garnish.

He immediately took one down to Alfred, who was wrestling with a particularly delicate plate of Bruce’s suit, spraying some sort of adhesive, by the looks of it. He hardly said anything when Clark placed his mug down for him, but inhaled deeply and sighed contentedly. He offered Clark a small thank you, then continued working on the suit.

Clark flashed him a warm smile, then returned to the kitchen to retrieve his and Bruce’s mugs.

He took them back up to the bedroom, looking at the time. It was shortly after three, meaning they didn’t have a ton of time until the youngest two were home. Jay still wasn’t awake, and Clark was a little surprised that Alfred had let him stay asleep this long. He creeped past his bedroom, careful not to wake him as he made his way to where Bruce was.

Clark set the cider down on the dresser, slowly peeling off his own clothes until he was naked too. Then he knocked on the door of the bathroom.

“Clark?” Bruce asked. Clark smiled. He sounded better.

“Yeah, it’s me, B. Can I join you?”

“It’s unlocked,” came the reply. 

Clark retrieved the mugs, then opened the door with his hip. Bruce was lying entirely submerged in their two person bath, surrounded by an unnecessary amount of bubbles and looking a little less grumpy than before. He inhaled deeply, just like Alfred had, smiling when he recognized what his partner had brought him.

“Of course the Kansas boy makes me hot apple cider,” he commented. “It’s like apple pie in liquid form.”

Clark returned his grin and stepped toward the bath. He set the mugs down on the floor next to the tub, climbing over the edge and settling into the water.

He really had no idea how hot it was, but judging by the steam still rising off of it, he guessed it was pretty warm. 

They sat just looking at each other and sipping cider for a little while, until Bruce suddenly began to shift. Clark felt disappointed. He had hardly been in the bath with Bruce at all, and neither of them were even half done with their mugs.

Bruce didn’t get out though. Instead, he shifted his body around so that his back was to Clark, reaching under the water to separate Clark’s legs and scooting back until he was snuggled between them. He sat back, leaning against Clark’s chest and nuzzling into his neck.

They sipped quietly for another few minutes, just enjoying the warmth of the water and each other’s presence. When Clark had almost finished his mug, Bruce turned his head to look up at him.

“You used your speed, didn’t you? Because I was cold?”

Clark blushed slightly.

“Yeah. But I doubt anyone saw me. Besides, even if they did. I was already out there in just a t-shirt. Don’t you think that would have given it away too?”

Bruce shook his head.

“No. Any idiot can go out in the snow in a t-shirt. Not just anyone can fly, or run at mach 3.”

Clark snorted. Bruce cocked an eyebrow.

“It’s cute that you think I can only run at mach 3.”

Bruce elbowed Clark in the ribs which, of course, didn’t phase him at all. They both startled chuckling and downed the rest of their drinks, resuming their snuggling.

When the water was starting to cool off significantly, at least according to Bruce, they heard the sound of the front door closing, signalling Tim and Damian’s arrival. 

Bruce sighed.

“I think that’s our cue, Clark. We should probably get out and actually do things.”

Clark wrapped his arms around Bruce and kissed his temple.

“I suppose you’re right. But before we go, I wanted to tell you something.”

The eyebrow again, and Clark smiled like a goon.

“I love you, Bruce.”

Bruce rolled his eyes, but grabbed and squeezed Clark’s hand.

“I love you too, you weirdo.”


	5. Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark has another competition for the family. It gets messy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is later than normal because I had to write an essay today! Blehhhh. But it's done now.
> 
> Thank you for all of your sweet comments. I know it's cheesy af, but I'm loving this.
> 
> Enjoy!

Clark had, the following Saturday morning, banned everyone from the kitchen, locking himself away in concentration for several hours.

Bruce smirked when his partner emerged around lunch time, looking disheveled and completely frazzled. He was absolutely covered in white powder and had what looked like paint splatter on the front of his white apron. It was red and green, which meant whatever Clark had been up to had Christmas written all over it.

Jason shot him a sideways glance as he came and sat down to eat, but it seemed that the other boys either didn’t notice, or didn’t care enough to react at all. Alfred was frowning, and Bruce was almost certain that he was distressed that Clark wasn’t allowing him to help. 

Clark stayed quiet while they were eating, but he was  _ all smiles _ . He kept giggling to himself, and even rubbed his hands together a few times like he was being mischievous. By the end of their meal, Bruce was actually a little concerned.

When Clark snuck back into the kitchen once the table had been cleared, Bruce returned to his office where he had been working, figuring that whatever Clark was up to, they’d find out soon enough.

At around three, Dick showed up at the front door with a bag slung over his shoulder. Alfred was busy in the cave with Tim and Damian, Jason was upstairs, and Bruce was still in his office, so Clark wiped his hands and made his way to the entryway.

“Precinct sent me home for the weekend,” he said. “It’s cold out. As soon as the temperature gets this low, they only really need half of the squad on duty. I went home and slept, but figured I’d come here for the rest of the time.”

“So the rookies get the weekend off,” Clark laughed, pulling Dick in the house and tousling his hair. “You know Bruce will be happy to have you.”

Dick nodded, then after a few more minutes of banter, headed upstairs with his bag to take it to his bedroom. Clark called after him: “By the way, don’t come in the kitchen!”

Dick didn’t respond, but Clark returned to the kitchen anyway. He knew that if Dick was approaching, he’d hear him and would tell him again then.

\-----

It was a non-issue. Clark emerged from the kitchen shortly after four, completely finished his task. He went upstairs to Dick and Jason first, then went down and grabbed Alfred, Tim, and Dami from the cave, then came up and interrupted Bruce.

“Come to the kitchen, B,” he said. “Stop your work for now. You have another competition to partake in.”

Bruce looked up at him over his computer screen and was about to protest, but the stupid grin on Clark’s face made him change his mind.

When they walked into the kitchen, though, he began to regret his decision.

Clark had separated the long table that usually sat pushed up against the wall nearest the door, setting them apart in the middle of the large room. Each table was a reflection of the other, lined with various things Clark had clearly been putting together.

Two large slabs of rich-looking, baked gingerbread cookie sat on each table, surrounded by five bags of prepared icing in red, green, blue, white, and black. Clark had laid out an arrangement of candies as well-- a mixture of gummies and chocolates, some rainbow licorice, and a great variety of sprinkles. There were also five small bottles of food colouring--explaining the splatter on his apron--lined up neatly next to the icing bags, as well as two large knives, a few spoons, and a can of compressed air for drying. In the centre was a cutting board, clean and prepped as a base for their creations.

“Fuck yeah, gingerbread,” Jason said, laughing as he walked into the room. “Clark. Are we having a gingerbread house competition?!”

Clark smiled and nodded, looking around at them all. Alfred was looking quite perplexed at the arrangement in front of him, and Bruce was smiling fondly.

“I made fresh cookie dough this morning--I made the first batch too crisp, so you wouldn’t have been able to cut it. Normally you’d cut it out before you bake it, but I didn’t want to have to wait.” He laughed. “So, it’s a little soft, but also should be stable enough to hold up its shape.”

Clark didn’t even have to tell them what to do. Alfred, Tim, and Jason made their way over to one table while Dick, Damian, and Jason sat at another. He rubbed his hands together again, watching them all take in the ingredients they had available.

“I’m going to watch this time,” Clark said. “Same rules apply. No sabotage. Points for creativity, points for aesthetic, and points for following instructions. Those instructions are: you MUST use at least 10 different types of candy. I have given you more than enough to choose from. Your gingerbread structure does not have to be a house, but it does have to stand at least 6 inches off of the table. Mind you, creative people would likely try to go for height or width, or complexity, too. I guess it’s up to you to decide.”

“How long do we have?” Tim asked, still observing their ingredients.

“Two hours,” Clark said. “I’ll be making dinner while you’re at it, so by the time it’s ready, your time will be up. Just like the trees.”

They all nodded. Clark looked at his watch and raised his hand, dropping it when it hit the next minute exactly. They got to work.

\-----

True to his word, Clark’s timer rang around two hours later, signifying the end of the contest. He had generally tried to avoid looking at their work, but had sneaked a peak at the participants themselves several times over the course of the competition. 

He had to admit, it was hilarious.

Bruce had chuckled at him when he emerged covered in flour, but the billionaire’s once tasteful and impeccable black button-down was now entirely covered in a coating of loose sugars, individual sprinkles, and smears of white, red, and blue icing. Clark was fairly sure the black had made its way on the shirt as well, but was simply less visible.

Damian  _ somehow _ was perfectly clean. Not a spot of sugar or icing was on his hands, face, or clothing. Clark would have wondered if he participated at all had he not seen the young boy holding the roof of their gingerbread building secure while Bruce dried it in place with compressed air.

Dick was somehow dirtier than Bruce, having chosen a very light shirt to bring over. Had Clark known that he’d be coming, he’d have instructed him to bring an old shirt, but thinking about it now, Clark figured none of the boys even  _ had _ an old shirt. Alfred kept them impeccably dressed. What delighted Clark most about Dick’s appearance was the icing smeared in his hair. Dick had somehow managed, despite himself, to spike the entire front of his black locks straight up in the air with thick globs of blue and red icing. It was...ridiculous.

Tim and Alfred looked fairly neat as well, though not quite as much as Damian. Tim had icing on his shirt and smeared on his face, and Bruce could only assume that the seventeen year old had sampled a few things. Alfred’s clothes were almost completely clean, probably owed mostly to the fact that he had donned an apron at the very beginning of the challenge. His hands, however, were a bright shade of blue. He must have used the food gel.

Clark bust a gut when he looked at Jay. He was, by far, in the worst shape of them all. So much so, that Clark almost felt bad for him. It looked like he had gotten incredibly stressed, lines of icing dragged across his face by his fingers were left behind on his cheeks, nose, and forehead. He had more icing in his hair than Dick did, and food gel not only on his hands but all over his pants as well, smeared in nice prints that indicated he had wiped his hands on them many times. He had sugar and sprinkles on his face, and Clark felt he looked comically like a cartoon child who had gotten into the cookies when he wasn’t supposed to.

A nineteen year old child. Jason in a nutshell.

Clark instructed everyone to put their hands down and head to the bathroom to wash up for supper, commenting amusedly that “Jay probably needs a whole damn shower.”

Dinner passed much the same as it had the night of the tree competition, sharing anecdotes about their own experience decorating the houses and smack talking each other in a playfully threatening manner.

When they had finished eating and Clark was beginning to clear the table, the boys began to make their way upstairs to allow him to judge, but he called Dick and Jason back.

“You two were the most spirited,” he said, starting to gesture mostly to their hair but then changing course and gesturing to their  _ entire bodies _ . “You get to explain your houses.”

They were more than happy to do it, and led Clark eagerly back into the abandoned battlefield as soon as the dishes were washed.

Dick took Clark to theirs first, and Clark was delighted by it.

It was a full replica of the outside of Wayne Manor, somehow crafted with meticulous accuracy. It appeared one of them had even piped on the tiny little red and green lights that Clark had hung around the windows, and had lined the path to the garage with colourful candies to represent those lights as well. 

“Holy shit, you guys did well,” Clark said, admiring the mini-manor from all angles. He looked behind and saw that they had even begun to pipe the detailing in the gardens and the lake behind the property as well. “For two hours, I’m incredibly impressed.”

He had spoken too soon, however, as when he walked over to Jay, Tim, and Alfred’s gingerbread creation, he literally gasped.

“It’s the  _ Watchtower! _ ” Clark had exclaimed, behind down to look inside. Dick did too, huffing and standing up.

“No way you did a fucking side profile of the Watchtower,” he muttered. “Fucking showers and everything.”

It was true. Clark peered inside the 3D model of the League’s base, admiring the work that had been put in. It wasn’t the neatest he had seen, but it was much more detailed than their competitions, and indeed, there were tiny showers with little strips of blue licorice mimicking water. Jason had even apparently retrieved the little Batman Lego figurine he had purchased Bruce, sticking him into the showers cowl and all.

“Alfred and I both have really steady hands,” Jay said. “And Tim’s got the crazy imagination. I just can’t believe it worked as well as it did.”

Clark shook his head and walked out of the kitchen to retrieve the others.

When they had returned, Bruce immediately went to the Watchtower replica and began examining it, smiling in awe at the work his sons and butler had done.

“Clark, you don’t even have to give us the scores,” he said, finally. “I know they won, and I’m totally okay with it.”

Clark looked shocked, but not as much as Damian did.

“No, father!” he said. “Of course Kent needs to give us the scores!”

Clark laughed and zipped down to the cave to grab the clipboard, quickly scratching down the scores he had kept in his head.

“I judged based on the criteria I had given,” he said. “And both of you did very well. Dick, your team’s Wayne Manor replica was lovely, and I commend you for the details you put in. I give you 17/20.”

Damian stuck his tongue out at Jason, who flipped him off.

“Jason,” Clark continued. “Your team did a fantastic job on the replica Watchtower, and I must say, your creativity with Batman in the shower alone was enough to push you over the top. 20/20. I wouldn’t change a thing. You win.”

Jason and Tim jumped up in excitement while Alfred simply clapped calmly. As they all began to help with the clean up, though, Clark noticed that the butler had a little skip in his step.

Bruce didn't end up going back to work immediately, like Clark thought he might. He began to have a sneaking suspicion his plan was working.

\-----

This was confirmed later that night, while they were driving to Gotham in the Batmobile. Bruce suddenly put a hand over Clark’s and pointed out the window.

There was a house, lit up with yellow lights in the shape of the Bat.

Even through the cowl, Clark could see his partner’s eyes lighting up, a smile plastered on his face.

He _felt_ that smile too. Felt that little bit of magic.

Felt like Bruce really _was_ starting to like Christmas.

He was more determined than ever. 20 days to go.


	6. Dressing Up the Pets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martha brings Krypto down for a visit, and with him, a gift for Titus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha okay so.
> 
> I wrote a 10 page paper yesterday on the wonderfully gothic works of Edgar Allan Poe, which is fine, but unfortunately I completely forgot to post this chapter! AH! I'm so sorry. Day 7 will be posted later tonight as well, but I have to edit it first. These two days are a little shorter, because of the workload I have. Harumph. Again, I'm sorry. 
> 
> I hope this doggy cuteness makes up for it my missed day, and the shortness. God I love dogs, and I've always loved Krypto and Titus as well. Plus the boy and his dog trope is just so perfect with Dami. Man. Ugh.
> 
> Their sweaters are inspired by my niece and nephew dogs' Christmas costumes. So yeah. Fun times.
> 
> Okay, well, enjoy.

There was a knocking at the front door.

Clark emerged from the den, where he had been playing chess against Bruce, Tim and Damian ‘assisting’ him. He had no problem temporarily abandoning the game to greet their visitor--even with their help he was getting his ass handed to him.

Bruce had been taught by Alfred, and Alfred was virtually unbeatable.

He narrowed his eyes and glanced through the door, unsure who he might find on the other side. To his delight, he found that it was his Ma, waiting patiently with an armful of packages.

“Hi honey,” she said, smiling broadly. “I had some time off, so I thought I might as well bring down the boys’ gifts. I know it’s early, but I likely won’t see them again until the end of the month.. You and Bruce can hang on to them until Christmas morning.”

Clark stepped back to let her in, taking a few of the parcels from her arms and placing them on the entry table, but before she was actually able to cross the threshold, a red, green, and gold bundle of fur and fabric bolted relentlessly past her and up the hall, straight into the kitchen. 

Krypto circled around the room--they could hear the clanking of falling pots and pans--then ran back out into the hallway. He hadn’t noticed that Clark was there until then, evidently, as Clark laughed and drew his attention.

The golden retriever took off toward him, bounding happily and leaping up into Clark’s arms. He licked his face, neck, and hands, and basically anything else that he could get his tongue on, whining and barking softly to convey his happiness at being reunited with his original master.

After a few moments, Clark wrapped him tightly enough in a one-armed hold so that he could close the door behind his mother, then held him away from his body to observe his squirming form.

Martha had dressed Krypto in a Christmas outfit, and he looked adorable. It was an ugly sweater of sorts, a red print resembling a traditional Norwegian print, intermingled with green trees, snowflakes, and bones. Clark laughed again and turned to his Ma, who shrugged and gestured to the dog in Clark’s arms.

“I made a trip over to the pet store to get some extra treats for him, and saw the costumes. I couldn’t leave them knowing how cute they’d look.”

“They?” Clark asked.

Neither Bruce nor any of the boys were apparently aware of Martha’s arrival, but Titus was, having most likely heard the kerfuffle. He appeared then, as if he knew he was being discussed.

He bounded around the corner and straight toward Martha. Damian had evidently trained the Great Dane better than Clark had his own dog, as Titus slowed just enough that he was able to flop down in front of her feet. Krytpo tended simply to crash into things. Titus was above that.

When Clark voiced this, his mother chuckled and pulled a small plastic bag from under her arm.

“That may be true, but he isn’t above having his own costume. Come on, Clark, honey. Let’s take them outside and get Titus in his outfit. We can surprise Bruce and the boys.”

They deposited the rest of the parcels on the entry table and headed out, Clark taking a few moments to play with his retriever. He bolted around the side of the house, laughing as Krypto tried to run after him. The dog had gotten used to having Clark’s powers, once upon a time, but they’d long since faded. Despite how desperately he wanted to keep up, the poor thing just didn’t stand a chance without them. 

When Clark had sufficiently worn Krypto out, he returned to the front of the house to find his mother wrestling with the larger dog, trying to get him to put his front paw into a fluffy green costume. He stifled a laugh as he approached, commanding Krypto to lay down very near them and moving to assist his mother.

By the time the costume was fitted properly on Titus, he looked incredibly unimpressed, especially when Clark added the final touch: the star on the tree.

It was a headband with a gold fabric sort of crown that sat behind his ears. The costume itself was the tree, and Clark couldn’t help but think it may have been originally designed for a female dog; the layers of the tree were lined with sparkly white fabric and hung in delicate drapes around Titus’ middle. He pointed this out to his mother.

“It looks like a dress, Ma,” he laughed. She nodded.

“It definitely does. Do you think Damian will be angry?”

“We’re about to find out.”

He walked up the steps to the front door, calling the dogs to come with him. As soon as they got in the door, both animals bolted off to the den where Clark could hear Damian trying to call Titus.

He covered his hand with his mouth as he watched them round the corner into the den, their appearance eliciting gasps and giggles.

“It’s positively emasculating!” Damian exclaimed as they joined them in the den, his mouth gaping at the strange appearance of his loyal companion. Bruce, too, had a hand over his mouth, suppressing the urge to laugh not only at Titus’ ridiculous appearance, but also at his son’s utter disgust at this development. Tim wasn’t trying to hide his own laughter whatsoever, curled over on the floor, clutching his side with tears streaming down his face.

“I’m sorry Damian!” Martha said, stepping into view. “I didn’t realize it would be so frou-frou when I bought it for him. I would say he could switch with Krypto, but I’m afraid the sweater won’t fit.”

“I’m taking it off of him!” Damian continued, motioning for Titus to come over to wear he was sitting. At this point, however, Krypto had engaged Titus in a tug of war match with the Dane’s favourite rope toy and there was no way he was leaving it.

“Damian,” Bruce said, as sternly as he could with a smile threatening to break through. “Martha has purchased this for Titus, and I expect that you will at least humour her for the remainder of her visit.”

Damian glared at Bruce, and Martha grimaced. 

“It’s okay, sweetie. If you want to take it off of him, I won’t be offended.”

“I will!” Dick said, sneaking into the room behind Clark and laughing almost as hard as Tim. “Man, that is pure gold!”

Damian covered his face with his hands as Jason came in as well, joining in the laughter.

Clark put his hand on his mother’s shoulder, smiling broadly at her.

“Thanks Ma,” he said. “This will really help get us into the Christmas spirit.”

\-----

By the time Damian left for patrol that evening, the costume had been removed. But, seeing as he wasn’t around for a few hours, Clark redressed the dog before heading to sleep.

It’d be a nice surprise for Robin when he returned.


	7. Ice Skating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Freeze attack the Gotham Ice Rink, ruining Clark's plans for the evening's activities. Jason and Tim help him come up with an alternative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for commenting. Like seriously. Comments are the best. They. Are. The. Best.
> 
> I hope you have/are having/had an excellent day! (Choose the appropriate option based on your time zone lmao)
> 
> Enjoy a short bit of fluff and tomfoolery.
> 
> -Laynee

Clark had planned something a little different for the following day, but a call from Commissioner Gordon that pulled them away from their supper and out on patrol threw his intentions for a loop.

Mr. Freeze was on a tirade again, firing his cold weapons rapidly at the city's main ice rink. According to Alfred, this was a fairly usual occurrence in the winter time. Bruce had always theorized that this was because he felt more comfortable in a cold environment, and Dick agreed.

“He comes out every winter because he knows that when we inevitably kick his ass and break his helmet, he won’t immediately asphyxiate.”

The more time Clark spent that evening fighting back against the mysterious frozen man, the more he felt that Dick’s theory likely rang true.

Partially because he saw how much Freeze relied on his suit, indeed, and fueled additionally by how completely and thoroughly they  _ were _ kicking his ass.

Batman and Robin had never really had too much of a problem on their own, but with Dick’s graduation to Nightwing, and the addition of Red Hood, Red Robin, and a trained assassin turned Robin, the scientist didn’t stand a chance.

Throw Clark and his handy heat vision into the mix and it truly was a lost cause.

The fight took them just over an hour, by the time they had actually defeated Freeze and collected his henchmen as well. Bruce, Dick, and Damian departed to take them over to the GCPD while Clark flew the other boys back to the manor. 

Tim and Jason both loved to fly with Clark--while they weren’t thrilled by the idea of Clark  _ carrying them _ , especially Jason, they evidently ultimately thought that the view and the exhilaration outweighed this factor. 

Plus, Clark had very quickly realized that both Tim and Jason really enjoyed spending time with him, and Clark enjoyed it as well. He loved them all as his own children, having mentored them for  _ years _ as Bruce’s friend and league partner. Coming into their lives as a second fatherly figure had done nothing but enhance his bond with all of them, perhaps most significantly Damian, who had at that point ceased referring to Clark as ‘the alien.’ Dick and Damian meant a lot to him as well, but there was something about Tim’s intelligence and Jason’s uncanny sense of humor and comedic timing that set the two of them apart.

“Hey, C,” Jason said, mid flight. “When are you going to pit us against each other again?”

“Yeah,” Tim echoed. “That was twice in one week, and now you’ve given us a taste of victory. I want to destroy them again.”

Clark laughed aloud, descending towards the edge of the Wayne Estate. He continued flying, holding Tim and Jason just aloft above the near frozen water of the lake. 

“Well, it wasn’t going to be a competition, but I  _ did _ have something planned for tonight. I was going to take you all ice-skating at the Gotham rink. Freeze coated that in a bit  _ too _ much ice earlier though, so there goes that plan.”

Jason shook his head.

“It’s been so long since we’ve been! Alfred used to take us when Dickie and I were younger. We even went a few times with Bruce, and kept at it for a bit when Timmy was around. Man, I’d love to see B fall on his ass.”

“Bruce has impeccable balance, Jason,” Tim responded. “He  _ never _ falls on his ass. Regardless, I still think it would be pretty fun to go again. I’m sure there are some skates around. We could bring Alfred and Titus too.”

Clark sighed.

“But like I said, the rink is out of commission right now.”

At this point, they had almost reached the manor, the rapidly shallowing waters indicating they were close to reaching the back entrance to the cave. Before Clark could get there, however, Jason stopped him and told him to touch down right at the edge of the water. He gestured out into the darkness.

“Blow on it,” he said.

Tim’s eyes lit up, and he nodded furiously. Clark looked confused.

“What?”

“Freeze the edge of the lake, Clark,” he repeated. “With your breath. You can do that, right?”

Clark hummed. “Actually, yes, that would work.” He inhaled deeply, sucking in as much air as his lungs could hold. Then, in a large sweeping motion, he blew it out again, successfully freezing several meters of ice.

Tim stepped cautiously toward its edge, retrieving his bow staff from his belt and poking it at the surface of the lake. When it did not give, he stepped onto the thick ice, pleased to find it entirely held his weight.

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “Clark, we can SO go skating if you can freeze enough of the lake. And then we’re here too, so we don’t have to worry about being normal!”

Jason and Clark both smiled.

“Okay,” Clark said, after a moment of thought. “Go inside, see if you can find some skates. Get Alfred to help you, and get gear together for Bruce, Dick, and Damian as well. As soon as they get back, we’ll get them to change and join us on the lake.”

\-----

Impervious to the cold, Clark simply remained outside in his costume. The lake was completely surrounded by dense forest--no one would be spotting them from any of the surrounding houses, especially given the vast expanse of Bruce’s property. 

He spent most of the time he was waiting for the rest of the family freezing the water, then creating a thin layer of water on top of the ice with his heat vision. He would then refreeze that water too, creating an even and stable rink for them to skate on right at the edge of the lake. When he had finished the rink, he moved onto the solid ground, melting away patches of snow and collecting fallen logs to build several fairly large fires far enough away from the ice that it would not melt, and yet close enough that they illuminated where they would be skating.

The product of Clark’s efforts was a fairly decent sized, fairly well lit, and charmingly homemade rink. He felt sort of proud of it, especially so when the others finally joined him and raved about how well he had done.

It was almost ten o’clock when they laced up their skates and took to the lake.

Dick was a complete natural--the balance and agility required to remain graceful on ice skates came to him second-nature. Evidently his training in acrobatics aided him in more than just his hand to hand combat.

Jason and Tim were both fairly good as well, albeit a little less adventurous. Where Dick spun and jumped on his skates, they remained with two feet planted as much as possible. Jay had dug up two sticks and an old puck along with the skates, and the two of them were engaged in a game of one on one.

Alfred refereed this game, seated safely beside one of Clark’s fires and taking great amusement from observing his family. “Good heavens, Master Jason, I’d surely break a bone,” he had said.

Apparently being an assassin did not lend much to skating, however, as Damian forced himself to take awkward and short steps forward. Dick tried relentlessly to teach him how to skate, but he was as stubborn as his father and would not listen.

“Step and glide, Little D,” he said. “You’re overthinking it. Step...and glide.”

Luckily, Titus was somehow much more competent on the ice than Damian was, and so the Dane remained at the heel of his master, following him around and allowing Damian to grasp his collar for balance.

Clark found it all very endearing from his position next to Bruce. Tim had been right to say that Bruce had excellent balance. His strides were strong and sure, and had Clark not been cheating  _ just slightly _ \--technically hovering just mere millimeters above the ice to give the illusion of confidence--he was sure that Bruce would have left him behind ages ago.

But instead, they skated in tandem, hand in hand, admiring each other and their makeshift family in the dim light of the fires.

Bruce seemed at peace, and Clark wanted to bottle the feeling for him when inevitably the bitter cold of the season and the hearts of Gotham’s criminals poisoned his joyful attitude. Clark still got chills when Bruce leaned into him, head on his shoulder. It was a position he often took, and yet Clark still had to swallow the lump in his throat that told him he was the luckiest man on Earth.

It was more than just Bruce’s hand in his, his other hand on his upper arm and head tucked into Clark’s shoulder, that told him that this particular night. It was the firelight. It was Alfred’s laughter and biased scorekeeping, and Jay and Tim’s corny smack talk. It was Damian’s muttering, cursing the ice and the wind and Dick as he shuffled along, and Dick’s contented sighs as he rotated through his arsenal of graceful movements.

_ Yes _ , Clark thought to himself, concentrating as he pressed a kiss to the brim of Bruce’s beanie. 

_ I truly am the luckiest. _


	8. Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark tries to peek, but Bruce has it covered. In lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is really short, but I loved Martha and Jonathan wrapping Clark's gifts in lead in the animated series, so I borrowed that.
> 
> Enjoy anyway!

To Clark’s immense surprise, he came down to the den the following morning to find that there was a single gift under the tree.

He smiled broadly to himself, walking over to it and peering down at the tag. He saw that it was addressed to  _ him _ .

Clark turned around, focusing his eyes and looking through the walls of the manor. Bruce was upstairs in their bedroom. Tim and Damian were already gone to school, and Dick and Jason appeared to still be sleeping.

It took him a minute to locate the butler who, Clark found, had made his way up to the oldest wing of the manor. Alfred was dusting Martha and Thomas’ vacant bedroom, and would likely be up there for a while.

Clark took advantage of this, lowering onto the couch nearest the tree and focusing in on the gift.

He tried to keep an ear out while he spied, but had to abandon this in order to concentrate on the gift. For some reason, he was having trouble getting his x-ray vision to focus on the small package.

“It’s lead, Clark,” Bruce said suddenly, stepping into the room behind him.

Clark flushed in embarrassment, quickly looking away from the tree and over to the door.

“What’s lead?” He said, cursing the colour appearing on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bruce chuckled, shaking his head and slinking into the room. He sat down on the couch next to Clark and grabbed his hand.

“Clark, you are  _ literally _ the worst liar in the world. I know that you were trying to look at your gift with your vision. I’m here to tell you not to bother. I lined the box with lead foil before wrapping it in the paper.”

Clark narrowed his eyes at Bruce.

“ _ Of course you did,”  _ he said. “I should have known you would figure out a way to stop me from peeking.”

“Actually, it was your mother who suggested it to me. She told me she wrapped the boys’ gifts in lead as well, even, just to make sure that you wouldn’t peek and spoil it for them. She says you’re terrible at keeping gifts a secret.”

“I am!” Clark laughed. “I totally am. I love giving...I love finding things that other people will love...but then as soon as I find them, I want to give it to them! I don’t want to wait until Christmas!”

“I know, Clark. That is so...you.”

Clark blushed a little, and wrung his hands in his lap.

“It’s also so you to sneak in here while nobody is around, and try to figure out what’s in your presents. So, literally everything I wrap this year has to be in lead foil? Even for the boys?”

Clark nodded sadly.

“You might want to. I won’t be able to resist otherwise. It’s absolute torture to me.”

Bruce smirked to himself, then looked Clark dead in the eyes as he said:

“I guess you could say that wrapped presents...are your _Kryptonite_ …”

Clark smacked Bruce in the gut, his jaw dropping open.

“Bruce! I’ll give you a 9 out of 10 for that joke, but know that most of that score comes from the fact that  _ you told it!  _ It was incredibly lame...but Bruce, you told a joke!”

Bruce glared at him, rubbing a hand dramatically over where Clark had hit him.

“Shut up, Clark,” he said, shoving him playfully. He stood up and walked toward the door again.

For good measure, Clark turned back to the tree and tried  _ one more time _ to see what was in the small parcel. It still didn't work.

Bruce’s voice could be heard from his spot on the stairs, prompting a sad and exasperated sigh from Clark.

“It’s still wrapped with lead, Clark, and it will be until Christmas!”


	9. Ugly Sweaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce feels pressured to wear the sweater Martha has made him, but it has unfortunate consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhahah some fluff.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Oh Rao,” Clark said, as he pulled the thick wool out of the bag. “That’s...that’s something, really.”

He was staring down at a Christmas sweater his Ma had gifted him. It was brightly patterned, and was definitely not within the range of the things he normally wore. He looked it up and down, suddenly realizing that it didn’t have a tag.

“She made them, B,” he said, looking over to his boyfriend.

They were in their bedroom, and it was fairly late at night. Martha had apparently left two packages in Alfred’s care, asking him to give them to Clark and Bruce after she had left. He had left them on their bed for them to find after patrol.

Bruce was holding his own sweater, rubbing the wool between his fingers.

“She made them?” he asked. Clark could tell by the look on his boyfriend’s face that he felt guilty for thinking it was ugly, but he couldn’t help but agree. “It’s incredibly...warm?”

Clark burst out laughing, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Bruce’s lips. 

“It’s okay to say it’s ugly, sweetheart,” he laughed again. “I think she did it on purpose.”

Bruce looked slightly relieved, holding up the sweater and looking at it in its obnoxious entirety. Bruce’s was bright red, with a large green tree stitched into the front and decorated with 3D baubles and a bright yellow star. The sleeves had a snowflake pattern stitched into them, the cuffs, collar, and bottom of the sweater stitched with a thick green border.

“I can’t decide if it looks like a cross between the dogs’ costumes, or if Christmas just threw up on some wool and gave it to me.”

Clark laughed again, observing his own. His was the same colour green as the cuffs on Bruce’s, but was patterned with all of the objects from the carol, the Twelve Days of Christmas. There were birds and holly on the arms, and he too had fancy cuffs, but his were white.

“How do you explain mine then, B?” he joked. Bruce looked it up and down for a second, then shrugged.

They put the sweaters on their nightstands and climbed under the covers, ready to go to sleep. Bruce clicked off the lamp, and as darkness fell over the room, Clark was suddenly swept by a wave of sadness. He curled in on himself instinctively, but it gave him away immediately.

Bruce didn’t say anything, but just reached a hand over to his arm and slid it down until he found Clark’s hand. He squeezed it gently. They laid there for a moment, and Clark sniffled.

“You miss her,” Bruce said. “It’s okay to miss her, Clark.”

Clark laughed airily, swallowing his tears and clicking his own lamp back on. He sat up on his elbow and wiped at his reddening face.

“I feel guilty,” he said, breathing in. “She’s all by herself in Kansas, and it’s so far for her to drive. But she’s always the one who comes down here. I can fly, for fuck sake, and I barely even go to visit her. And you never do.”

He sniffled again.

“Not that it’s your job, I’m not saying that, but like...you’re so amazing and the boys are...so amazing...and she just gets Krypto and we just leave her alone the rest of the year, you know? I have all these wonderful people and she’s all alone.”

Bruce squeezed his hand again and smiled softly.

“Believe me, Clark, I know a thing or two about missing your parents, and about feeling guilty for enjoying your life.”

Clark nodded, and Bruce shifted his body so that he was almost right up against Clark. He leaned over him, reached up, and clicked off the light. Then he wrapped his arms around Clark and pulled him flush against his chest, letting him curl into him.

“Let’s go tomorrow,” Bruce said, softly. “We’ll go visit her tomorrow.”

Clark sniffled again. “Really? What about W.E? And the Planet?”

To that, Bruce scoffed.

“Lucius can handle it, and Perry can allow you a few days off. It’s not like you ever get sick, Clark.”

Clark laughed quietly and curled in closer to Bruce.

“Thank you,” he said. “We can wear our sweaters.”

They fell asleep like that.

\------

True to his word, Bruce packed him and Clark up into the jet just after lunch. The flight was around two and a half hours, and passed fairly smoothly. They didn’t do a whole lot of talking; Bruce chose to actually fly the plane instead of putting it on autopilot. Apparently Lucius had given it a few upgrades he wanted to put to the test.

Clark worked on a few articles on the way, feeling guilty about missing work. They were content to be silent, working on separate things but in each other’s company.

There was, of course, a car waiting for them when they touched down in Kansas City. Bruce paid the driver and the two of them made their way to Smallville.

Before they went in the house, Clark pulled a package from the back seat that he had kept separate from the rest of his luggage. He sighed as he pulled out the sweaters, smiling at Bruce as he tugged his shirt off.

“Just for tonight, B,” Clark said. “If she made them as a joke, like I think she did, she’ll probably have a good laugh and then tell us to take them off.”

They made their way up to the house, and the minute Martha opened the door, Clark knew he had made a mistake.

“Oh, Alfred gave them to you, did he? Do you like them? I didn’t know what patterns to make so I found a couple online.”

Clark smiled and looked over at Bruce who’s eyes were a little bit wide, but his mouth quickly curled up into one of his charming Brucie smiles.

“They’re so fun, Mrs. Kent,” Bruce said, nodding at her. “And very festive.”

She smiled, looking a little relieved, and stepped into the house. The two of them shared a look while she led them into the dining room, already chatting about how lovely it was that they had come to visit her.

They ate and chatted some more, then moved to the living room and watched the evening news together. It was a typical night in Clark’s Smallville home, and he loved it.

Bruce, however, seemed incredibly uncomfortable. He kept shifting in his seat, frowning as he repositioned, and sighing dramatically. Martha seemed too excited to have company to notice, which Clark was thankful for. His boyfriend wasn’t exactly subtle.

At just after nine o’clock, Bruce let out a dramatic yawn. Martha chuckled to herself and followed suit.

“It’s early, but maybe it’s time for us to tuck in, Bruce.”

Bruce chuckled too and nodded. Clark gave him a funny look, but he just smiled and got to his feet.

“I’ll help with the chores in the morning, Ma,” he said. “I’ll get them done in half the time. We’ll head home sometime after lunch.”

Martha agreed, then retired to her bedroom at the end of the hall on the main floor. As soon as she was out of sight, Bruce rushed toward the stairs without a word to Clark. 

Clark began to follow him, but before he got even three steps up, he heard Bruce moan in discomfort. He abandoned his facade of normality and raced up the stairs to see what was wrong. 

He did not expect to find what he found.

Bruce was laying, sprawled out completely on the bed in just his boxer shorts. Furious red welts and scratch marks were littered all over his back, shoulders, and just above the waistband of his underwear, intermingling with the years of crime fighting scars that were already there. Clark gasped.

“What the hell happened, B?” Clark asked, stepping forward and laying a gentle hand on his back. Bruce hissed and slapped his hand away.

“It’s that damn sweater,” he said, gesturing to the discarded article. “It’s so fucking itchy, it’s not even funny.”

Clark pulled his own sweater off, and of course, observed that he didn’t have a single scratch.

“Why didn’t you say something? Oh my god, Bruce, you’re covered in literal welts!”

Bruce sighed and rolled his head toward Clark, looking kind of sad.

“You were so excited and your mother actually made them for us thinking they were nice, so I didn’t want to upset her.”

Clark smiled softly, but shook his head.

“Everyone says you’re so grumpy all the time, but you have too much good in your heart for your own good sometimes. I love you.”

Bruce glared at him.

“I love you too, but I would love you even more if you helped me with this. Some hydrocortisone? Or even a cool cloth? Please, Clark, this burns like a son of a bitch.”

Clark laughed, then covered his mouth with his hand as Bruce cursed at him. He made his way over to the bathroom and found a cloth and the cream, then came back to find Bruce itching his lower back.

“Stop, B, you’ll make it worse,” he said, gently. Clark lowered himself onto the bed next to Bruce and began pushing the cool, wet cloth against his back. Bruce sighed audibly at the contact, relaxing slightly as the burning sensation eased a bit.

“Thank you,” he murmured a few minutes later, when Clark had switched over to the cream. He rubbed it into his skin in gentle circles, trying his best to soothe while avoiding hurting his partner further.

It took twenty minutes and half the bottle to cover all of Bruce’s back and chest. By the time Clark had finished, the older man was half asleep above the covers.

Clark took advantage of this, scooping a mumbling Bruce up into his arms and pulling back the bedspread. It was cool in the house during December, so Clark wrapped Bruce up in a bunch of blankets, and pressed several kisses to his forehead and cheeks.

“Thanks,” Bruce murmured again, curling into Clark’s side.

“Thank you, B,” he whispered back. “You made Ma really happy.”

“I better have.”

Moments later, he was out like a light.


	10. Song Lyrics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark planned to take Bruce caroling, but then Batman has a minor accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny bit of angst? Not really though. Heh.

_ Jingle Bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg... _

_ The Batmobile lost a wheel, and the Joker got away! _

Joker repeated those two bars of his own infamous Christmas parody as he drove through the city, loud speakers attached to the top of his obnoxious purple coupe playing it on repeat as well. Batman and Robin were hot on his tail, but seemingly couldn’t quite get to him. As soon as their lines swung them even remotely close to him, he drifted around another corner with a maniacal laugh.

Bruce was getting increasingly frustrated with how the evening was going; he had hoped that catching Joker would take less than an hour, but it had taken more than that just to locate him. Red Hood and Red Robin were in the Batwing, Nightwing in the Batmobile, each handling a different situation. Superman was off in Metropolis. He and Damian had no one else to call to help them catch him, but they'd have to make do. Bruce needed a vehicle.

He roared angrily as Joker cut around a corner again, then clicked on his commlink and called Alfred. He swung up onto the roof of the nearest building, Robin following suit.

“Call Red Hood! I need his bike,” he growled at Alfred. Damian’s eyes lit up, and Bruce shook his head immediately. “And Robin needs an escort home.”

Damian glared at him as Alfred agreed. When Bruce had hung up, he and Damian dove simultaneously off the roof of the building and began to swing toward Joker again. They made up some distance, the clown having slowed down, under the impression he had lost them. Before they got too close though, they heard the engine of the Batwing flying behind them. 

Batman and Robin dropped down to a lower rooftop, Jason landing the plane shortly behind them. 

“Red Robin isn’t with me,” Jay said, watching Bruce looking around for Tim. “He stayed to collect evidence. I’m going to take Robin here back to the cave, then go after RR.”

Bruce nodded, pressing a button on the side of his belt. A latch on the belly of the Batwing fell open, slowly lowering a sleek, modern-looking bike. Jason cocked his head, his facial expression invisible beneath the mask.

“Take care of her, Bats,” he said, a hint of sadness in his voice. “She’s precious.”

Bruce rolled his eyes as he mounted the bike, switching his cowl’s vision and locating Joker. He saluted his sons with a flick of his wrist as he ramped over the edge of the roof and sped off after the purple car. 

Now with an actual vehicle, Bruce caught up to the car incredibly quickly, losing no ground when he took sharp turns. Jason’s bike, though not his usual preference in vehicle, rode fairly smooth, but he wasn’t overly familiar with its controls.

That became evident the moment he had caught up with the clown. 

Bruce hadn’t predicted that Joker would be willing to crash his car, given how much money he had inevitably sunk into it, but that’s exactly what he did. He watched as the clown was ejected from the front seat and out the side of the car where he somehow elegantly performed a tuck and roll maneuver, ultimately landing on his feet and taking off in a run immediately.

Bruce usually prided himself on his ability to keep up with the actions of criminals--he could usually so accurately predict their next moves--b ut, between his confusion around Joker crashing his car and the unfamiliarity of the bike he was riding, Bruce’s reflexes were not what they usually were. The bike slammed straight into the back of the coupe, folding in on itself and on Bruce.

“Master Bruce?!” He could hear Alfred in his ear. In the first few seconds of landing, he was too dazed to even process what had happened. Once his head stopped spinning, he performed a quick self-assessment. He was pretty sure nothing at all was broken, but he could feel warm blood dripping down his temple. It was only after he’d gone through this process that he realized Alfred was still trying to get a hold of him.

“Master Bruce! Superman is on his way, as are Robin and Red Hood! Stay where you are!”

Bruce groaned in response, his hand instinctively touching his forehead where he was bleeding. He hissed at the slight sting. He started to pull himself out of the debris, assessing the situation to determine what had happened.

Joker’s car was crumpled, as was the front of Jason’s bike. The tire had flown off the front, and admittedly, Bruce had no idea where it had gone. He observed the wreck in front of him and saw the shattered front windshield on the bike, spattered with his blood. There was one part in particular which had quite a bit, right on the sharp edge. 

_ That’s where I hit my head _ . Bruce mused. His arms burned slightly as he pushed up on the seat of the bike and got to his feet. He hadn’t taken two steps when Clark arrived, touching down and rushing immediately to his side.

“I’m fine,” Bruce said, brushing past him and cutting him off before he could even speak. “I lost control of the fucking bike.”

Clark moved to grab his shoulder, but retracted when he realized it might hurt Bruce. Instead, he zipped around so he was in Bruce’s way. This was met with a snarl.

“I said I’m  _ fine _ , Clark.”

“The blood all over your face says otherwise. So does your shitty demeanor. That usually means you know you need help but don’t want to ask for it.”

Bruce glared at him and sighed loudly, but the sound fell on deaf ears. Clark didn’t wait any further, scooping Bruce up into his arms and shooting off into the sky.

“What the  _ fuck _ , Clark?!” Bruce growled. “Joker’s still out there!”

Clark shook his head. “Nightwing’s on him. He’s on foot now, B. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

Bruce looked furious, and judging by the look on Clark’s face, his boyfriend knew he was in for it later. Clark called Jason and Tim to let them know he had collected Bruce, then sort of tried to change the subject.

“This was possibly the best night for you to get injured,” he said, chuckling softly. “Not that any night is a  _ good _ night to get hurt, per se...I mean, please don’t make it a regular thing...but now that you’re injured, I can’t take you caroling.”

“Oh god, no,” Bruce said, crossing his arms. Clark looked sort of sad. “You were going to take me caroling? I’ve heard Joker’s stupid version of Jingle Bells probably upwards of a hundred times tonight. Believe me, I am caroled out.”

Clark nodded, smiling slightly.

“Is that the one where he says-”

“That I smell, yes,” Bruce huffed. “I know. Just fucking  _ hilarious _ .”

Clark touched down just outside the cave then, setting Bruce on his feet and walking to the scanner and pressing his palm flat against it. The rock began to separate, opening the door closest to the med bay. Clark was sure that Alfred and Damian would be waiting, so he took the opportunity he had alone with Bruce to pull him securely to his chest. 

“Clark,” Bruce said, his entire character changing as he realized what Clark was feeling. “I promise I’m okay.”

“I know,” Clark said, nodding above him. “That doesn’t mean I ever want you to be in these situations, B. That doesn’t mean I’m okay with what happened.”

Bruce leaned his head against Clark’s chest, sighing softly. Clark pressed his nose into Bruce’s hair and inhaled deeply.

“Right now Joker's right; you _do_ smell...” he said, quietly, pulling away. He smiled at Bruce and gently touched his forehead where the cut was. “...like blood. I fully expect that this will be continued once you’re cleaned and stitched up, and I know for sure that you don't have a concussion or something.”

He grabbed Bruce’s hand and began to pull him towards the med bay.

“I think I can do that,” Bruce said, following him in. “On one condition.”

Clark raised a brow in question, then laughed at his response.

_ “No more goddamn carols.” _

“No more carols,” Clark responded, squeezing his hand with a smile. _"At least not tonight."_


	11. Fireplace Cuddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark forces Bruce to stay home for patrol, which not only pisses Bruce off, but also means that his own patrol is even longer. Bruce apologizes and rewards him with cuddles by the fireplace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to let you know, whoever you are reading this, that you are important. You are loved. You have meaning. 
> 
> That is all.
> 
> Now enjoy some Superbat.

With Bruce’s head injury, Alfred was fairly insistent that Bruce take at least the following evening off from patrol. Clark had agreed, much to Bruce’s distaste and frustration.

“I’m  _ fine _ !” He had yelled, storming down to the cave and straight to the wall where his suit was stored. Clark and Alfred had followed closely behind him, and found him repeatedly pressing his hand to the blue sensor on the wall, trying to get the case to open. 

Both Clark and Alfred stood there in silence while the case rejected Bruce’s handprint multiple times. It took him a moment or two, but Bruce eventually clued in. He turned around slowly, his eyes narrowed and lip curled up in a bit of a snarl.

Clark wasn’t sure he had ever seen him as furious as he was now, and if he had, it wasn’t very frequent at all. Bruce usually seethed and brooded. Fury was rare, but here it was, rearing its ugly head right at Clark and Alfred.

“ _ For a fucking head injury?!”  _ he roared.  _ “I’m not a fucking child! For fuck’s sake! _ ”

He stalked toward the computer, fiddled with the controls for a second, breathing heavy. Then, he slammed his palm flat against the table and turned on them again.

_ “Open it!” _

Clark and Alfred stood in silence. Bruce hissed between his teeth.

“ _ Alfred...Clark...open that fucking case or so help me God I will-” _

Alfred raised an eyebrow at him, his eyes stony and insistent. Clark’s jaw almost dropped at the way that it stopped Bruce in his tracks. His boyfriend curled in on himself, suddenly, turning away with a final frustrated growl and heading for the computer.

“How did you…?” Clark whispered to Alfred as they watched Bruce tug at his hair. 

“If your mother were to scold you as she did when you were young, would you not react the same as you used to?” Alfred replied. Clark thought about it for a second, then nodded.

“Yep. I absolutely would.”

Alfred smiled, then made his way to the stairs. He called behind him as he ascended.

“I’m assuming you’ll be handling the comms this evening, Master Bruce. Master Clark will be patrolling Metropolis, but is on standby should Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, or Robin require assistance. And, for your information, my override is on the case for twenty four hours. Don’t bother trying to hack it. You will not be able to.”

Bruce grunted in response, pulling a headset over his ears and typing something on the computer.

Clark pressed a hand to his own sensor and retrieved his suit, donning it guiltily while watching Bruce’s frustration. As much as he hated trapping Bruce like this, his boyfriend had more than ten stitches in his forehead, and had been damn near a concussion. He needed a rest, whether he wanted it or not.

He walked over to Bruce just before he left, pressing a kiss to his temple and whispering goodbye. Clark felt a pang of his own frustration when Bruce didn’t respond, but he had known he’d be angry when he agreed to take over his patrol. It was expected.

“I love you,” he added, anyway, even though there was no response. With a sigh, he opened the back entrance and flew over to Metropolis.

\-----

There had been a point, at around eleven o’clock, that Clark was sure he would have to get Alfred to let Bruce leave the cave. Metallo had decided to strike that evening, an attempt to retrieve some sort of power source from Star Labs. Despite the Kryptonite weakening him, Clark managed to shut him down.

He was utterly exhausted when he finished his fight, but couldn’t ignore the call he received from Dick. Damian and Jason had gotten themselves caught in a trap set by Carmine Falcone, the crime boss threatening to execute them. While this seemed to be an everyday occurrence for the Robins, Tim had been knocked unconscious. This alone was enough to draw Clark to the scene, but Damian and Jason’s situation made it worse. 

Clark told Dick to focus on Tim, to try and assess him for injuries and make sure that his head and neck were supported. He figured it would be relatively painless to fight Falcone’s men, even with the slight weakness from the Kryptonite.

He was right. He crashed through the brick wall, taking out three of the gangsters while he was at it. All of the guns were immediately trained on him, and they fired. As per usual, the bullets did nothing to his skin, so he simply walked toward them. 

He seized the weapons, snapping each gun in two pieces and throwing them on the floor. He used his speed to drive the men toward the adjacent room. He raced to close the door on them, melting the lock with his heat vision. Then, for good measure, he took a heavy wooden desk and slid it across the room, pinning it against the door. They were trapped.

Damian and Jason were tugging on their bonds now. Jay’s face wasn’t visible, but Damian looked  _ thoroughly unimpressed _ . Once again, Clark was reminded of Bruce.

“We could have handled it,” Damian snapped, as Clark crushed their chains. He shook his wrists and began to walk toward the exit. Clark was too tired to respond, rapidly crushing Jason’s chains and then taking off to where Tim was lying; the roof of the neighbouring building.

He was relieved to see that Tim had regained consciousness when he arrived, his head laying on Dick’s knee. He looked a little pale and his costume was soaked with sweat.

“It was a gas of some sort,” Dick said, sounding a little shaken. “I got my respirator on in time, but RR didn’t. Did they use it on the other two?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Clark said. “They look okay.”

As if on cue, Jason and Damian swung up onto the roof, observing Tim and Dick. Clark clicked on his comm, surprised that Bruce wasn’t contributing to their discussion.

“I’ve got Red Robin,” Clark said. “Can you send the ‘wing for the others? I’m flying RR home as fast as possible. He inhaled something.”

“Affirmative,” Bruce said, sternly. That was all Clark got, and he sighed as he took off into the air.

The cave was already open when he arrived, Bruce waiting at the entrance with a gurney and a more complex respirator. Clark laid Tim on the bed, watching helplessly as Bruce attached the equipment to his son’s pale face.

“Hey, Tim,” Bruce said, a complete air of tenderness in his voice that had been absent over the comm. Clark felt his shoulders relax. “Breathe deeply, okay? Clear out your lungs.”

Bruce instructed Clark to push the bed alongside him as he walked. He wrapped a cuff around Tim’s bicep, assessing his blood pressure through the costume. They shared a worried glance when it came back a little low, and Clark began to push a little faster. By the time they actually reached the med bay, however, and Bruce was able to take a more accurate reading, Tim’s colour had returned and his blood pressure came back normal.

Bruce called Alfred down to the cave, asking him to finish taking care of Tim. Clark could tell something was up with Bruce, but was so tired and needed a shower. Bruce gave him a knowing nod, then simply murmured “study” before heading upstairs.

The others had returned by the time Clark was cleaned up, and he bade them good night and good work as he made his way to the study. There he found Bruce, curled on one side of the couch by the fireplace. Strangely, it was lit. Clark was sure he had never seen a fire in any of the grates in the manor before, but it reminded him of home.

He sat next to Bruce, who continued to stare into the fire and did not acknowledge him at first. After a few minutes of silence though, Bruce reached over and grabbed Clark’s hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze, which Clark returned.

That was enough. That was his apology, and Clark knew it. It was his own as well. Neither of them necessarily thought that either party was in the wrong. Both knew they could have handled it better; Bruce keeping his temper, and Clark actually having a conversation with him instead of teaming up with Alfred. It was over now, though, and the scare with Tim had put that into perspective for both of them.

Besides, Clark was just too tired to fight anymore anyway.

He tugged gently on Bruce’s arm, pulling him into his chest and letting him lean back against him. He pressed his face into the side of Bruce’s hair, inhaling his shampoo and natural musk. He wrapped his arms around Bruce, crossing them over his chest and squeezing gently. Bruce leaned into his touch as they both watched the fireplace.

They stayed laying there, cuddled on the couch for almost half an hour before either of them spoke. It was Clark who went first.

“Tonight was hard,” he said, exhaustion seeping into his voice. “I’m exhausted. But I’m also so glad Tim is okay.”

Bruce nodded in his arms.

“Me too,” he said. “I know why you made me stay home, but I couldn’t help but feel guilty. Like he got sick and Jay and Dami were trapped because I wasn’t there.”

“You have no idea whether or not that would have happened, B,” Clark said. “They each have the exact same equipment that you have, so I’m sure they tried as hard as you would have to assess the risks. They hit a few obstacles, but they came out okay. You trained them well.”

Bruce stayed silent for a moment; pensive.

“I’m proud of them,” he said, suddenly and quietly. “I’m really proud of them.”

Clark smiled into his hair.

“You should tell them. They’d appreciate hearing that.”

Bruce nodded and craned his neck up into Clark’s touch. Pressing his temple against Clark’s cheek, he sighed contentedly.

“I don’t know what I’d be without you,” Bruce said, once again taking Clark by surprise. 

“You’d probably be a lot more injured,” he joked, softly. He wasn’t sure how to take the compliment, and was certain Bruce knew he appreciated it nonetheless. “Wanting to go out on patrol with stitches in your head, for fuck’s sake.”

Bruce chuckled, once again pressing into Clark’s touch. They fell silent again for a while, watching as the fire slowly died down and just relaxing cuddled up to each other. 

They didn’t, however, see it go out. Both of them were fast asleep.


	12. Hot Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark makes the batfam hot chocolate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring WAY TOO MUCH detail of Clark making hot chocolate. Sorry if it's too much. I felt it kind of fit the warm and cozy aesthetic, plus I LOVE baking and cooking, so there's that.
> 
> Also CHEESE AND FLUFF. TOOTH ROTTING. SO CORNY.
> 
> Enjoy.

When Clark had volunteered to make the whole family hot chocolate, he had not anticipated how complicated it would soon become.

Dick was the only one whose request came even remotely close to a traditional American cup of hot chocolate, and even that was incredibly debatable.

Clark had gone around the house, asking them nonchalantly how they liked their hot chocolate, and each of them had been honest. It was what he had asked for, but hadn’t expected it to involve so much work in the end.

At around nine in the evening, when all of them returned from a quick patrol of the city, and Clark from a trip quick to the grocery store, he moseyed up to the kitchen and set to work.

He started two pots of milk on the stove to simmer. He prepped several mugs, selecting a different colour for each family member, and filling their respective mugs with any and all ingredients that they needed.

A heaping spoonful of Cayenne for Jason’s Hot Hot Chocolate, because he lives “on the wild side.”

A heaping spoon of Seven Spice for Damian because it reminded him of “Mother, Grandfather, and violence.” When Clark had questioned him, he had said it was something that was made for him as a child in the league. That made more sense to Clark. He added cocoa too.

Nothing for Tim’s, whose table chocolate had to be added directly on the stove. Apparently Jaime had taught him a recipe he loved, and he’d shared it with Clark.

Crushed peppermint candies and a thick white-chocolate peppermint syrup for Dick’s mug of White Peppermint Hot Chocolate.

A dusting of espresso powder, to be supplemented in the drink itself, for Alfred, a traditional French version that had been popular in his youth.

And for his love, Bruce, a splash of non-alcoholic Irish Cream, to fulfill a recipe apparently inspired by traditional Cioccolata Calda, a delicacy he had tried in Italy in his mid 20s.

Clark sighed with a gentle smile as he pulled the simmering milk from the stove. He quickly whisked in some cocoa, a bit of sugar, and a few more shakes of cayenne, wrinkling his nose at the spicy smell the mug gave off. He set it aside, covering the top with a towel to keep the heat in.

He refilled the pot with milk, returning it to the stove. The first pot he had prepared was simmering, so he carefully added the table chocolate, stirring it until it thickened. Tim’s cup smelled much more appetizing than Jason’s had, and the sweet smell of warm milk and chocolate lightened his mood.

He began humming to himself as he covered Tim’s mug, and put the pot on again. When the other pot began to simmer, he quickly added a dash of water to Dami’s Seven Spice, then topped it off with the hot milk. The room began to smell like cinnamon mixed with the chocolate. It reminded Clark of the holiday in general, and he silently hoped that his family would enjoy their cocoa.

He covered Damian’s, too, this time adding heavy cream to the pot on the stove. When the milk beside it had boiled, he added cocoa and sugar, and the tiniest bit more of the Irish Cream. A teaspoon of cornstarch thickened the mixture without turning it into the traditional pudding consistency of Cioccolata Calda. Just as Bruce had asked. He poured the finished drink into Bruce’s mug, accidentally splashing a little of the hot liquid onto his arm.

He was thankful he couldn’t burn. He could tell by the steam it was scalding. He smiled. Again, just how Bruce liked it.

One more pot of milk went on the stove, the residual heat of the pan bringing it to a boil before the cream. He mixed in several chunks of white chocolate, waiting until it thickened the tiniest bit. Then he added two drops of peppermint oil, pouring the mixture over the syrup and candies in the mug.

Alfred’s heavy cream came to a boil at long last, and Clark added the necessary bittersweet chocolate, powdered sugar, and espresso powder. When it was a smooth consistency, only a little bit thicker than Bruce’s, he pulled it from the stove top and poured it carefully over the espresso powder. He dusted the top with a pinch more espresso, then squirted a dollop of whipped cream on top of everyone’s, except for Bruce. He knew Bruce had an aversion to the stuff--he had explicitly told him not to include it in his mug.

Apparently Batman was too serious for whipped cream. Fancy-ass Italian hot chocolate was fine, but he drew the line at  _ whipped fucking cream _ .

He uncovered all of the mugs, grabbing one of Alfred’s fancy trays he used at Bruce’s parties and loading them onto it. 

With great care, as to not dump his hard work all over the hardwood, he made his way over to the clock. He opened the entrance to the cave, making his way slowly down the stairs and into the computer bay.

The entire family was there, which made Clark’s life a lot easier. He sighed with relief when he successfully set the tray down on Bruce’s bare work table, having managed to transport the drinks without spilling a drop.

Bruce stared up at him with an unreadable expression, looking back and forth between him and the mugs a few times. Clark chose to ignore him, really unsure of what Bruce was staring at and really not wanting the drinks to get cold.

He took Alfred his first, the butler smiling broadly as he inhaled the scent of the dark chocolate and espresso. He thanked him, taking a slow sip and sighing gratefully.

Dick burnt his tongue on his mug, taking far too large a sip. Nevertheless, he too seemed to enjoy what Clark had made him.

Jason and Tim laughed when Clark gave them theirs, neither of them having actually expected Clark to follow through making their favourite spicy drinks. Jason comically gave Clark a chef’s kiss, Tim just wrapping his hands around the mug as if it was his favourite thing in the world.

“Jaime would be proud,” he said, as he took another sip.

Damian, to Clark’s surprise, was not only grateful for his Seven Spice, but he  _ complimented _ how accurate Clark had managed to make it. Clark found himself blushing as he delivered Bruce’s mug to him.

“Where’s yours?” Bruce asked, barely even acknowledging the drink in his hands.

Clark folded his hands over the belt of his jeans, shrugging.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I don’t want one.”

It was a little bit of a lie. The truth was, Clark just didn’t want to bother. He had made six different cups of the stuff already. Even though his favourite was  _ plain _ , he hadn’t really felt like doing it all again.

Bruce gave him another funny look, then smiled as he sniffed the top. 

“You used non-alcoholic?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow. Clark chuckled.

“Of course, B,” he said. “I know you don’t drink.”

Bruce nodded and winked as he took a sip. Clark watched his shoulders relax, and felt incredibly accomplished. He had risen to the challenge of preparing everyone’s favourite recipes, and had, evidently, delivered.

The moment didn’t last long though, as all of the bats in the cave--including Alfred--returned to their work. The room was filled with the beeping of trackers, the clicking of Bruce’s keyboard, the occasional sigh or growl of frustration, and the sound of sipping.

Clark yawned and kissed Bruce on the cheek, bading him good night. He had to work the following morning, and was admittedly, very tuckered out. Bruce kissed him back with a warm smile. He tasted like chocolate, and Clark sort of wished he had made himself a mug.

The weight of his eyelids, however, deterred him from returning to the kitchen. The moment his head hit the pillow, he was out.

\----

The smell of something sweet roused Clark, the bedroom suddenly lit by a soft yellow glow.

“Clark,” came a whisper from beside him. “Clark, honey, wake up.”

Clark rubbed his eyes and pushed himself up onto his elbow. He forced them open, looking first at the clock, then over at Bruce.

His partner was sitting cross-legged on the mattress, looking adorable with nothing on but dark plaid boxer shorts. 

In his hand was a steaming cup of cocoa.

Clark pushed himself the rest of the way up, ignoring the early hour to relish in the fact that Bruce had  _ made him a mug of hot chocolate _ .

“You didn’t make one for yourself,” Bruce said. “You never pass up the opportunity, so I figured you were just too tired from making all of ours. So here.”

Clark smiled softly at Bruce, swiping a hand through his hair and reaching out to accept the mug. He breathed in the sweet smell, smiling widely when he saw the marshmallows floating on the top.

“It’s just a standard milk chocolate recipe,” Bruce said, watching him. “I know you don’t like anything too fancy, just a few mini marshmallows.”

“You’re right,” Clark said, sighing at the comfort the first sip gave him. “I do like it just plain. It’s perfect Bruce. That was really thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Bruce said. He smiled gently, but it quickly turned into a cheesy grin. Clark raised an eyebrow.

“I did, admittedly, add  _ one _ extra ingredient,” he said. Clark frowned, taking another sip and sloshing it around his mouth, trying to identify it.

“I don’t think I taste anything…” he replied. Bruce’s smirk got impossibly cheesier.

“Really? You want to know what it was?” 

Clark nodded.

_ “A whole lot of love.” _

Clark couldn’t decide if he wanted to smack his partner, or kiss the shit out of him.

After one more sip, he put his cocoa down and went for the latter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot explain. Something about this chapter that I loved. I hope you loved it too.


	13. Snowman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark organizes another competition. It turns to chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm early today! Yay! Usually I barely make this in by midnight lmao. That's exam season for you.
> 
> EnJoY!

Clark clapped his hands, the sound echoing across the back yard.

The other six residents of the Wayne household stood in front of him.

“Simple,” Clark said, nodding to the fresh layer of white below their feet. “It must have a base, middle, and head. It must have a face, but the materials you use for it are your choice. It must have arms, and an additional decoration of some sort. For example, you might choose a hat, or a scarf.”

The boys nodded. 

“This won’t take you guys as long as the other two contests, so there’s no time limit. I’m going to be up on the roof--there are a few lights that need replacing. Holler when you’re done and I’ll come to judge. And, you can start whenever you want.”

He took off toward the house, smiling as he heard chatter behind him. The crunching of snow beneath his feet filled him with immense satisfaction. His heart was full from the events of the past two weeks. He felt a bit like floating. That’s what the season did to him.

As he had predicted, it hardly took any time at all for the snowmen to be constructed. Jason finger-whistled to grab his attention just as he was starting to screw the last bulb in. He waved to acknowledge him, finished his task, then dropped down from the roof.

He could see immediately, without further inspection, that Alfred, Tim, and Jason’s snowman represented the very definition of  _ ass-kissing. _ Naturally, he went to theirs first, shaking his head.

“What?” Jason asked, innocently. He pulled up on the red blanket that had been wrapped around its neck, watching as it caught the wind and flapped lightly. Clark rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the smile on his face. The ‘S’ on the front had been shaped with sticks, and they had even found a small rounded twig to represent the signature curl above the snowman’s broad smile. “It’s Super- _snow_ -man!”

Bruce and Damian both groaned while Dick clapped delightedly. Clark mentally made note of his thoughts, then moved to Bruce’s team’s work.

Theirs, surprisingly, was a more traditional snowman. It had stick arms, and a lopsided twig smile. Two rocks from the back garden had been used as eyes, and Bruce had somehow obtained a carrot for its nose. There was a blue scarf wrapped around its neck, and Clark recognized Bruce’s black beanie on its head. It even had rock buttons down its middle.

Clark’s heart swelled in fondness.

“Bruce, Damian, and Dick win!” He said, not even bothering to relay the scores.

Jason and Tim booed. 

“C’mon!” Jay yelled. “Super- _snow_ -man was fucking amazing!”

“He was an ass-kissing at best,” Dick laughed, patting their snowman gently on the hat. “Ours was born of tried and true tradition.”

Clark shrugged and agreed with them. Tim and Jason turned to make their way to the house, but Bruce stopped them.

“Wait... we have to destroy yours,” he said, nodding to the Super-snow-man. “If someone happened to see it, it would be highly suspicious. It could mislead a passerby to believe the snowman means that Superman lives here.”

Even Damian gave Bruce a sideways look at the complete and utter ridiculousness of his statement.

“Paranoid much, B?” Dick joked, crossing his gloved hands over his chest. “Who the hell is going to pass by here?:

Bruce didn’t falter, so Jay stepped forward. He looked determined.

“Okay, old man,” he pressed, raising his arms in an informal fighting stance. Alfred’s eyes widened, while Clark stifled a laugh. “You can destroy our snowman... _ if you can get to it _ .”

Clark was not prepared for the chaos that broke out. Suddenly, the snowman building competition had transformed into a strange game that almost resembled Capture the Flag.

Well, if the flag was actually a snowman, and the players weren’t capturing as much as  _ obliterating _ . 

They were playing  _ Obliterate the Snowman _ .

Clark couldn’t help himself. He erupted in a burst of laughter, watching the boys trudging through the snow, throwing haphazard punches at a determined, albeit cold, looking Bruce.

Jason and Tim were up against Bruce, Damian,  _ and  _ Dick. Alfred had stepped back immediately, uninterested in participating in the hand to hand combat. Clark watched with  _ pure joy _ as Alfred slowly made his way through the snow and behind the fight, around him and straight to the winning snowman. He put a hand on its head, pausing just long enough to clear his throat and garner the attention of the scrabbling group a few feet away from him.

As soon as his opponents had turned their heads, Jason and Tim lighting up with excitement, Alfred beheaded their masterpiece with one gentle push. It's head toppled to the ground, exploding violently on impact.

Dick and Damian roared in fury and surprise, while Bruce burst out laughing. Clark was laughing too, and resumed egging the fight on.

“Hey, if yours is down, Dick and Dami, you might as well try and help Jason and Tim stop Bruce from destroying theirs!”

Dick and Damian looked hesitant, then observed Bruce laughing his head off and made up their minds. They surrounded Bruce, removing their gloves and hats and preparing to take him down.

Bruce stopped laughing as he realized he had all four of his highly trained Robins encroaching on his personal space, ready to fight. He raised his hands, claiming innocence at first, but ultimately accepted his inevitable defeat and allowed his sons to take him to the ground and cover him in snow.

\-----

Bruce’s hands were cold, but his heart was warm as they made their way back into the manor. 

“That was fun,” he said to Clark, as they stripped from their wet clothes. “I need a hot shower though. I think I’m colder than I was that day with the lights.”

Clark chuckled at the memory and winked.

“Can I join you?”

Bruce returned the wink.

“Superman, if I ever say no to that question--and we haven’t just come back from patrol--I think it’s time that you activate your contingency for me, because clearly,  _ I’ve lost it. _ ”

  
Clark swept a now naked Bruce into his arms and made his way to the bathroom,  _ laughing all the way. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah Alfred. So fucken devious. I love him.
> 
> This level of sass reminds me of "And I thought Batman was the detective" from the JL animated series. My favourite line in any show, ever, honestly.


	14. Snowball Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snowball fight gets out of hand very quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is a little angsty. Sorry if you like Damian. He gets in shit in this chapter lmao. Blame my fiance. This plotline was his idea.
> 
> And Im late cause I was writing an essay. Im sorry! I shouldnt have started a challenge during exam season tbh, but I'm determined to finish!

The next day was a little warmer--just enough to melt the top layer of snow and make it even more perfect for packing. 

That’s why Clark had organized a snowball fight. All of the boys seemed prepared to kick each other’s asses, until Alfred backed out.

“I am afraid that I must sit this evening out, sirs,” Alfred said as they were eating supper. “As much as I’d love to partake, my old age prevents me from spending too many nights out in the cold. I very much encourage you to have fun without me, while I stay in and stay warm.”

Jason and Tim had visibly sunk in their seats at this news, realizing they _really_ had no chance without their third member. 

That is, until Clark suggested an alternative member for their team.

“I’ll play for Alfred,” he said. “This is my favourite holiday, afterall, and thus far I haven’t really been able to participate.”

Dick and Damian immediately protested.

“We literally have zero chance if you play, Clark!” Dick snorted. “You’ll be able to make like fifty balls in the time it takes us each to make one.”

Damian huffed and crossed his arms while Bruce chuckled.

“Not necessarily. Clark moves fast, that’s true, but speed isn’t everything. We just have to use strategy. One snowball can do the same damage as fifty if you make it correctly.”

Dick shook his head and Clark laughed, but Damian frowned thoughtfully.

“I see what you mean, father. I’m going to go prepare for the fight.”

Bruce and Clark shared a look, both wondering what the hell Dami needed to prepare. But, given his history of over planning everything, they let him be.

At 7 o’clock, when they had finished helping Alfred tidy up, much to his chagrin, they made their way outside. It was dark out, but it didn’t matter too much. Clark went around and lit the fires like he had when they went skating, the dim light giving them more than enough to fight effectively.

“We move better in the dark anyway,” Bruce had shrugged to Damian and Dick. “Clark isn’t used to it like we are.”

Each team was allowed a few minutes to prepare a makeshift fort and some snowballs, save for Clark, who was only allotted twenty seconds. Jason burst out laughing and Tim smiled with optimism when Clark managed to construct a decent sized fort _and_ form a pile that had to contain close to fifty snowballs in that very short time.

“It’s so fucking on,” Jason muttered as he crouched behind their fort, a snowball in each hand. Tim prepared himself as well. Clark kneeled down, ready to make more snowballs.

They had established that would be their plan of attack. Clark making snowballs for Tim and Jason to throw, Red Robin and Red Hood relying on their experience with darkness to form a viable offense, Clark simply staying out of the way. 

When Jason finger-whistled, the game was on.

Within a minute of starting, Clark had made upwards of a hundred snowballs. He sighed, knowing that that was likely more than they needed. He decided that he’d build up their fort a bit more, aiming to protect Tim and Jason as much as possible.

This worked for a while, the teams getting around the same amount of hits on each other. Clark noticed that Damian hadn’t thrown a single snowball though, and felt suspicious. He wondered if Damian had been hoping to target him, and regretted when he ran out of snow in the area. His suspicions were confirmed when he informed the boys of his plan.

“I’ve got to go get more,” he said quietly to Jason and Tim. 

“Careful,” Jay said. “Dami told Dick he’s perfected a snowball, just for you.”

Clark chuckled to himself and sighed. “It’s not like he can really hurt me anyway. I could just run and dodge it, but I guess I’ll let him hit me.”

“It’ll make his night,” Tim concluded.

Clark ducked behind the fort at the very edge, and looked around. Damian somehow caught his eye in the dark, and reared his arm back. Clark couldn’t help but smile when he subconsciously stuck his tongue out in concentration.

If he hadn’t been distracted by his fondness, he might have noticed the snowball’s soft green glow. Bruce hadn’t noticed it either until Clark had stepped out from behind the fort and the snowball was already barrelling toward him. True to his decision, he didn’t run away from it.

He didn’t realize it was infused with Kryptonite shrapnel until he felt it collide, and a searing pain spreading across his right shoulder, cheek, and the side and back of his neck. He cried out, the pain of the shrapnel startling him and knocking him off balance.

He heard Damian start to cheer, but his celebration was cut off almost instantly by Bruce’s yell of fury and concern.

“CLARK!” His voice was gravelly, resembling the one he used under the cowl. Bruce lunged out from behind the fort and rushed over to where Clark was lying in the snow. “DAMIAN! Are you FUCKING kidding me?!”

Dick and Jason didn’t move, just stood still with their mouths open wide. Tim ran to Clark’s side immediately as well, joining his father on the ground and helping him assess Clark. Damian stayed where he was, frozen to the spot and looking emotionless.

Clark hadn’t been hit by even remotely close to enough Kryptonite for it to do any serious damage, but he was bleeding. He could feel heat dripping down his cheek and neck, and there was a sticky patch on his shoulder that he could only assume had been cut as well.

He knew that the damage done was enough, considering it was just a friendly snowball fight.

He hissed as he pushed himself over onto his stomach.

“Shirt off,” he mumbled to Bruce, who had already torn his gloves off and was examining Clark’s face. “My shoulder got the worst of it.”

Bruce carefully pulled the fabric up over Clark’s head as the Kryptonian pushed up off the ground just enough for it to slide out from under him. His shoulder stung when his shirt passed over it, and he heard Bruce growl in anger when it was finally revealed.

“This was supposed to be FUN!” Bruce yelled, angrily. Clark could feel him pressing his hands into his back in two different spots, like he was wrapping his hands around something. “You don’t EVER bring Green K out of that store without MY permission. And you sure as HELL don’t EVER WEAPONIZE IT against Clark for a GODDAMN GAME! Damian, what the FUCK were you thinking?”

“Bruce,” Clark said, shaking his head against the snow. “Bruce, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

“No you’re not, Clark,” he retorted, his face red with fury. “You have a two-inch shard of Kryptonite impaled in your shoulder. He could have pierced your fucking carotid artery, and then where would we be.”

Clark didn’t say anything, but just hissed a little as Bruce put more pressure on his shoulder.

“Jason?” Bruce asked. “Jason, can you go and get Alfred please? Bring the stretcher from the Batwing.”

Jason just nodded and took off toward the house. Bruce took off his scarf and wrapped it around the shard of Kryptonite. Dick had found his legs, finally, and made his way over to where Clark was lying.

“Un-fucking-believable,” Dick muttered to himself, kneeling down and removing his own scarf. Clark felt a surge of guilt. Dick was sometimes the only one who got along with Dami, and he didn’t want him to be mad at the youngest bat. But, Clark knew that he and Dick were especially close as well, so his defense was to be expected.

Dick started to put pressure on a few of the cuts in Clark’s cheek and forehead. Tim had his gloved hands covering some of the smaller wounds on his neck that weren’t incredibly deep, but were in a sensitive enough place that he was bleeding a fair bit. 

Damian maintained his position.

Still putting pressure on Clark’s shoulder, Bruce turned his head and shot an angry scowl at his son.

“We need to have a serious talk, Damian Wayne,” Bruce said. His voice was hot and heavy. Clark had only heard that tone come from Bruce once before, and it had been directed at Joker the time that the clown prince had stolen Green K from Lex and used it on Clark.

He wasn’t sure if it was Green K specifically that put Bruce in this mood, or if it was just the fact that Clark was hurt. Either way, if Damian hadn’t been on the receiving end of Bruce’s anger, Clark might have been touched. Instead, he just felt guilty.

Less than five minutes later, Jason and Alfred arrived with a stretcher. Clark noticed that Alfred deliberately avoided looking at Damian, and figured that he too would likely have some choice words for the young teenager.

Bruce helped him scoot his body over to the flat surface of the board, hissing at the pain in his shoulder and feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over him as Bruce and Dick lifted the stretcher up. 

“Damian,” Bruce said, teeth clenched. “Inside. To your room. _Now._ ”

Damian said nothing, tucking his hands in the pocket of his jacket and heading toward the house. Clark watched him go, frowning slightly.

Tim and Dick took their hands and scarves away from his skin. The cuts weren’t bleeding near as much as they had been, but the Green K in his shoulder was undoubtedly preventing them from healing.

Once they were inside, Bruce helped Clark over to a table in the med bay, then began to prep supplies he would need to extract the shard. Alfred, Jason, and Tim helped him, while Dick went up to Damian’s room. Dick wanted to get the story from him before Bruce went in and tore him a new one. Clark wanted him to have a good reason, but was pretty sure he’d just done it to try and win. He couldn’t really think of any other possible motivation.

Damian had apparently put a fair amount of force behind the throw; the shard was pretty deeply embedded in his skin. It took Bruce several minutes and some careful maneuvering to pull it out. Jason had retrieved an empty lead container from the Kryptonite vault, in which Bruce immediately put the shard. 

As soon as it was covered, most of the sting disappeared from Clark’s skin. He sighed in relief.

Bruce put his equipment away silently while Alfred bandaged him and helped him roll onto his back. When he had finished, Alfred, Tim, and Jason all went upstairs. Clark could still see the anger in Bruce’s face as he worked, his jaw pushed forward and held stiff, nostrils flared.

That anger was carried with him as Bruce made his way upstairs too, and Clark didn’t need superhearing to know that Bruce was yelling at Damian. Full force yelling. Robin was facing the wrath of Batman, and Clark was not envious.

His seething boyfriend returned to the cave around twenty minutes later, face still red.

He walked by, and Clark extended his arm to grab his wrist. It caught Bruce and he turned to look at Clark. Before he even had the chance to speak, Bruce was growling.

“Don’t defend him. Don’t even try. He told Dick he did this to win. It was stupid. It was irresponsible. He disobeyed my direct orders, and went against everything I have worked tirelessly to teach him. And worst of all, he put your health in danger. That above all is entirely unacceptable, and I won’t tolerate it.”

“I’m okay,” Clark said.

“It doesn’t matter. What he-”

“Bruce,” Clark said. “Look at me.”

Bruce sighed, closing his eyes for a second and looking down. Clark squeezed his wrist, and Bruce looked back up at him.

“You’re right. What he did was wrong, and of course I’m not exactly thrilled with him either. I’m not saying I’m okay to defend Damian. I’m saying I’m okay so that your damn heartbeat will slow down.”

Bruce stared at him. Then he closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. Clark smiled gently as the thudding slowed.

“I’m okay,” Clark said again. “I’m not going to succumb to a snowball. Not after everything I’ve been through.”

Bruce leaned over the bed and pressed his forehead against Clark’s, continuing to take slow, deep breaths to calm himself down.

"I hate seeing you hurt," Bruce murmered, his voice quiet and raw with emotion.

"I'm okay," he repeated.

Clark felt better as soon as his heart had evened out again.

“I’m fine to walk now,” Clark said. “Let’s go up to bed.”

Bruce nodded, grabbing the lead box. 

“Let me get rid of this shit first,” he growled. 

They held hands as they walked up, Clark still a little woozy, but overall doing much better. Moments after they got to their room, there was a quiet knock on the door.

When Clark called, Damian slowly opened it.

“I came to...apologize, Ken-” He caught himself. “Clark.”

Bruce crossed his arms next to him. Clark maintained eye contact with Damian.

“What I did was irresponsible. I hurt you, and that is unacceptable. I am...sorry.”

Clark nodded.

“Thank you, Damian,” he said. “I appreciate your apology. I would also like you to know that I will be okay.”

Damian nodded, not saying anything. Bruce was staring at him, and Clark felt bad for the kid again. When he turned around to grab the door, Clark stopped him.

“Little D,” he said, using their affectionate name for him. “You know...you know we love you, right?”

Damian nodded, staring at the floor.

“Even when you make mistakes.”

Damian nodded again.

“Good night, Damian,” Bruce said. “We’ll discuss what this means for patrol in the morning.”

With that, he was gone.

“Were you hard on him?” Clark asked. Bruce shot him a glare that made Clark put his hands up in surrender. Nothing else was said. They shut the lights off beside their beds and Bruce pulled the blanket up over them. Clark sighed at the slight sting in his shoulder. Even without the Kryptonite, the time of day meant it’d take him longer to heal.

Bruce, of course, noticed. He wrapped his arms tightly around Clark’s waist, pulling him in.

Clark smiled into his chest, breathing deeply.

“I’m okay,” he whispered. “I’m okay.”


	15. Sledding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has a romantic surprise for Clark, that involves a variant of sledding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew I wanted to do this, but I didn't know when. This chapter wrote itself. It's not your conventional sledding, as in on a hill, but it involves a sled of sorts....
> 
> AND IT'S ONCE AGAIN SO CHEESY. 
> 
> I love them.

Once the morning came, Clark’s shoulder was healed, the rays of the rising sun sneaking through the window and replenishing his body’s vitality. He felt at peace, laying wrapped up in the arms of his boyfriend.

He smiled at the soft snores coming from Bruce’s lips, his eyelids gone sleep soft and his lashes lying delicately over his cheeks. Clark loved Bruce’s eyes, closed or open. They were always beautiful.

Clark tried his best not to wake Bruce as he gently pulled away to get out of bed, but as soon as the covers were moved enough that Bruce’s bare chest was exposed, the cool air seemed to pull his boyfriend from his sleep.

Bruce stretched and groaned as he woke, but seemed to suddenly remember that Clark had been injured. His eyes flew open, and he sighed in relief at the display of flawless skin on his shoulder; as if the shard had never been there. 

“Told you I’m okay,” Clark said softly, turning to Bruce and kissing him on the mouth. Bruce grunted in response, and after a moment, pulled away from the kiss.

“We need to go on a date,” he said suddenly. Clark raised an eyebrow.

“Why? Not that I’m opposed to the idea, it just seems random.”

Bruce sighed.

“We haven’t been out just the two of us in a long time, Clark. As much as I don’t usually admit these things, I’d love to just spend some time with you. _Alone_.”

Clark kissed him again.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to justify why you want to go on a date with me. Of course I’d love to go, too. I love our boys, but…”

“They’re a lot to handle? They’re loud and obnoxious? They sometimes just randomly decide to make an attempt on your life?”

Clark laughed.

“Yes, yes, and apparently yes, but that’s not what I meant. I just...Rao, I love you so much, B. I can’t even put it into words, how much you’ve affected my life.”

Bruce’s expression turned soft, a faint blush creeping out onto his cheeks. Clark laughed again, knowing just how well Bruce could take compliments.

“I love you too,” he managed. He leaned in and kissed Clark again, as he always did when it came to these sorts of situations. Bruce struggled to find the words; it was easier just to show him. He’d always been a man of action, apparently in love it was no different.

They kissed for a few minutes, and Clark groaned.

“I have to go to work,” he said, tiredly. Bruce sighed as well, but nodded. 

“I’ll plan something for tonight,” he said. “You’ve planned so much for us over the past two weeks, it’s time someone planned something for you. Just the two of us. We’ll have dinner and then...something, I’m not sure yet. I’ll figure it out though, and I’ll make sure it’s something you’ll love.”

Clark smiled, and kissed Bruce _again_ , then dragged himself up and off toward the shower.

\-----

Clark had spent the entire day looking forward to his night with Bruce, though he told himself not to have crazy high hopes. He was sure Bruce would be able to come up with something nice for the two of them, but it seemed that their dates always had the tendency to go off the rails.

Gotham was the crime capital, after all, and it didn’t sleep just so that its hero could have a night of romance.

Clark’s low expectations for the evening were confused, however, when he arrived home just after 5:00 to find an outfit pre-chosen for him, and note on their bed.

_Bessalo’s at 6. The usual spot. Dress warmly._

Clark smiled at the pressed suit beneath the paper. Bessalo’s had been where they had their first official date. It was a small but fancy restaurant just around the corner from The Planet that served the best Beef Bourguignon, which Bruce knew was Clark’s absolute favourite food. 

That’s why it didn’t surprise him when he found Bruce waiting at their table in the back corner of the restaurant, with two glasses of wine and his order already placed for him.

Bruce looked... _gorgeous_ , Clark decided. He was wearing a charcoal coloured suit with a blue shirt and a black tie. His hair was combed back away from his face, and he had left just a little bit of stubble on his chin; just the way Clark liked it. 

Bruce smiled, just slightly, but it was the most meaningful to Clark. It wasn’t the debonair playboy smile, but he wasn’t quite as solemn as Batman. Bruce’s smile was another way of showing when he was just being himself.

Characteristic of their usual dates, Bruce rose to his feet when Clark approached the table, walking around to Clark’s chair and pulling it out for him.

And, as always, Clark couldn’t help the blush that appeared on his face. 

The meal was delicious, and as the two of them laughed together and chatted about their jobs and even a few League missions, Clark realized how much he had been missing this time alone with his boyfriend. He was so content to have fun with him with the boys in tow, it wasn’t that, but moments alone with Bruce...moments like this...they especially reminded Clark of why he fell in love with Bruce.

Why he continued to fall in love with him every day.

When they had finished eating and established that both of them were too full for dessert, Bruce paid the bill and offered Clark a hand.

They walked out of the restaurant like that, uncaring of their affection being in the public eye. Clark had taken a bit to adjust to the publicity, but it had been long enough that it no longer bothered him. If Vicki Vale or Cat Grant cared enough to write an article about their date--that was their own problem to address, not his.

His breath caught in his throat when they walked outside. Not in a million years could Clark have anticipated the sight before him.

There, in the street, was a bright red sleigh, its skis resting on the snow that continued to blanket the city. Two _beautiful_ Clydesdales were drawn to the sleigh, puffing steam into the evening air. Their reins were strung with soft white Christmas lights, the same shade that adorned the sleigh itself. Boughs of evergreen and holly were draped over the back of the seat, adorned with pinecones, ribbon, and bright red berries. The fresh falling snow covered the entire thing in a layer of sparkle that had Clark gasping.

Bruce stood proudly next to him as he took all of it in. The grip on Clark’s hand got tighter as Bruce pulled him toward the sleigh and helped him climb aboard. Once they had sat down and Bruce had signaled the driver to move, Clark met Bruce’s gaze.

His eyes were filled with tears.

“You’re taking me on a sleigh ride, Bruce,” he said, staring at his boyfriend in awe.

“I am,” Bruce mused. Clark saw the colour in his cheeks and the fondness in his eyes. “I thought you might like that.”

“I...do,” Clark said. “I really really do.”

Bruce smiled to himself and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small box. He opened it and held it out to Clark.

“I hope there’s something else you ‘do’ too,” he murmured. “Or at least, that you _will_ someday.”

“Bruce…” Clark gasped again. A few tears actually fell from his eyes then, his emotions entirely overwhelmed not only by the ring, but just by the entire night.

“I know how much you love this time of year,” Bruce said. “I know how much you love cheesy love stories and cliché gestures… but I just...I couldn’t wait for Christmas Day. I’ve been holding onto it long enough, and I think it’s time you take it off my hands.”

Clark sniffled, and covered his mouth with his hands.

“Clark Joseph Kent,” Bruce said, chuckling at Clark’s reaction and scooting himself off the seat of the sleigh to kneel in front of the love of his life. “I want you to be mine forever. Will you be my husband? Marry me?”

Clark didn’t respond, but pulled Bruce by his tie and kissed him fiercely, pulling him up off his knee and onto the seat again. Snow floated gracefully down onto Clark’s hand as Bruce put the ring on his finger.

Clark was elated; overwhelmed, but so incredibly happy he could barely find words for the rest of the night. The sleigh took them over to Heroes Park, through the greenery and down a wide forest path. They rode past the harbour, sharing kisses over a backdrop of the icy water and the setting sun. 

He was entirely sure he had never been so excited, so touched, and felt so utterly _loved_ before in his life.

“I know we haven’t been together that long,” Bruce said, as the sleigh pulled up in front of the manor gate. Clark could see Alfred waiting for them with one of the estate’s many cars. “But I just...I’ve never been so certain of something in my life. I don’t think it’s physically possible for me to love you any more than I do.”

“You continue to surprise me, Bruce,” Clark said, softly. “I love you more than you could ever know. I’m so grateful for you.”

As soon as Bruce had helped him down, he gestured toward the horses.

“One more surprise,” he laughed. “Go and meet Amica and Amato. They’re leaving for Kansas on the twentieth.”

Clark stared wide-eyed at Bruce, who smiled broadly.

“For your mother, for Christmas. From Alfred, the boys, and me.”

“She _loves_ Clydesdale’s,” Clark whispered, his hand covering his mouth again. “And they’re gorgeous horses, Bruce... she’s going to be so happy.”

“I know,” Bruce said. “I’ve covered their veterinary expenses up until now, and will continue to cover them while they are in her care. They come with the offer of a hand to help her care for them too, although I doubt she’ll accept it.”

Clark gently pressed a hand against Amica’s muzzle, murmuring softly to Bruce but in her direction.

“No, she won’t,” Clark said. “But she’ll adore them, Bruce, really. You’ve just...for someone who doesn’t like Christmas, you sure are good at it.”

Bruce laughed.

“I won’t say you’ve gotten me there quite yet, but I will give you at least some credit...I’m slightly more of a Christmas person than I was on the first. I’m feeling optimistic that you might actually succeed.”

“Ten days left,” Clark said, staring down at his ring. “This better work, actually--I’m not sure if I could actually marry a Christmas hater.”

Bruce looked slightly offended, so Clark laughed and kissed the expression away.


	16. Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark has tried shopping for Bruce, but what do you buy a billionaire?
> 
> You don't. You get him something from the heart...and from the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all. Your comments make my day. Literally. I cannot possibly express how much every single comment I get makes me feel. I have so much gratitude for all of you, and am so pleased you are enjoying these fluffy stories.
> 
> So here. Enjoy another.
> 
> -Laynee

Clark groaned loudly, covering his head with his hands and pulling on his hair. Wally shifted in his chair and made a sort of confused grunting noise. Clark looked up.

“I have  _ no idea what to get Bruce for Christmas _ ,” he said, sighing. “He  _ proposed  _ to me, and I have no idea what the hell to get him for Christmas.”

Wally snorted, turning back to the monitors. 

The two of them had been scheduled to work the monitor room the same night, and had been on the Watchtower for two hours now. Somehow, Clark still hadn’t come up with anything, despite admittedly paying more attention to his laptop than to the monitors.

“He  _ is _ a billionaire, Clark,” the speedster said, shaking his head. “What does one even buy for a billionaire?”

Clark didn’t answer but just groaned again, banging his forehead dramatically off of the table.

“What does he like to do?” Wally asked.

Clark knew he was trying to help, but gave him a sideways glare anyway.

“He likes to dress up like a bat, go out on the streets of Gotham, and embody  _ vengeance  _ and  _ the night _ . He likes to beat the crap out of people, and boss the league around. He likes to brood, and mope, and tinker in the cave.”

Wally glared back at him, and Clark apologized for his sarcasm.

“But no, really. It seems like he doesn’t really have any hobbies, Supes,” Wally said. “I mean...what do you get someone who not only has billions of dollars at their disposal, but also doesn’t really have any hobbies?”

“That’s my problem…” he said. “And like...I know what he values. He loves Alfred and the boys, and he obviously loves me.” He held up his hand to show Wally the ring. “So I thought about getting him a family photo or something, but that’s what the boys are doing. Someone’s painting it for them, I guess, to hang next to the portrait of his parents in the lounge.”

“That’s it!” Wally said, turning and snapping his fingers. “His parents!”

Clark stared at the younger hero for a second, confused and a little startled by Wally’s insensitivity.

“Uh...Wally…”

He was immediately brushed off.

“Clark, I know that they’re dead,” he snorted. His face twisted guiltily. “Wow, sorry. That was rude.”

Clark pursed his lips and nodded. Wally continued.

“But I mean...I can go back in time, Clark.”

“Okay, but you’re going to mess the whole world up if you change anything in the past.”

“Clark, I know,” Wally said. “Let me finish. Is there something Bruce has mentioned before, like a family heirloom or something that his mother or father lost in the past? Like an old pipe or a ring or something?”

“Uh...there was his father’s watch,” Clark said, thinking deeply. “It was a family heirloom that apparently Thomas had been given by Bruce’s grandfather. Bruce said he was supposed to inherit it someday, but then one morning his father went to grab it and put it on, like he did everyday, and it was gone. Inexplicably. They never found it.”

Wally nodded. Clark finished the story.

“When Jay was younger, like before everything with Joker and well before Bruce and I were actually together, he was convinced there was a ghost in the manor. We all talked about it one night. Alfred tried to reassure him, and Bruce told that story.”

“Bet that helped,” Wally smirked.

“Yeah,” Clark laughed. “I remember Bruce complaining that he was up all night a few nights with a scared and sleepless Jason.” 

“Well, okay...so the watch inexplicably went missing,” Wally said. “I know why.”

Clark frowned at him. Wally just smirked.

“The timeline is really confusing, isn’t it? It went missing during Bruce’s childhood because a mysterious man in red came back from the future to steal it, so that young Bruce’s future fiance could give it to him as a gift in his 30s.”

Wally sighed when it was clear the whole scenario was completely lost on Clark.

“Just...watch the monitors would you? I’ll be back in less than a minute.”

He zipped away from the room. Clark had enough time to close his laptop and sigh in frustration and fatigue before a sleek black box was placed in front of him.

“What’s this?” he asked Wally. 

The speedster gawked at him.

“You really didn’t follow any of that conversation, did you?” He asked.

“Hey! I’m exhausted, Wally, and brain dead from looking at gifts. We talked about Thomas Wayne’s watch, and you said something about the timeline and a guy in red traveling-”

He paused.

“ _Oh._ _Wally,”_ he said, staring at the box. “Did you…?”

“Yep. It was right on his dresser where Bats said it was when it went missing. I expect to get some credit for this though, Clark. You might have thought of the watch, but I did all the work.”

Clark opened the box and gasped. He could have guessed it would be tasteful; the whole Wayne family had impeccably classy taste and a budget to support it. 

The watch was platinum, with a metallic white face. The numbers were black, and a black platinum ring was set around the white. The links were adorned with small sections of black platinum as well, matching the dials on the side.

He pulled it out of the box and showed Wally, who sighed audibly. 

“Man that’s probably worth so much money,” he said.

“Wally…” Clark breathed, as he turned the watch over. “This will be worth a  _ hell of a lot more than money _ to Bruce…”

Wally leaned in, and they both read the inscription on the back of the watch.

_ To my son, with love and pride. _

“Oh yeah,” Wally said. “I’ve never seen it happen, but I’ll bet any money that Bats cries when he opens this.”

“Thank you, Wally. I’m not really sure how to repay you for this.”

Wally laughed.

“Actually, I can think of something. Can I just go home? You can repay me by taking the rest of this shift solo.”

Clark nodded enthusiastically. 

“Absolutely. Now that I’m not trying to figure out a gift, I’ll be able to focus. Go ahead. Enjoy the rest of your night!”

Wally spun on his heel and headed out the door. Clark called his thanks after him again, then returned his gaze to the watch. He could see why Bruce had given him his gift early.

_ He couldn’t wait to give Bruce his _ .

\-----

“What are you smiling about?” Bruce asked as he pulled his gloves off and sat down at the computer. “You haven’t stopped smiling since you got home from monitor duty. Nobody is  _ ever _ that happy on monitor duty.”

“I found your gift today, and it’s so completely perfect. You’re going to love it so much, and honestly I might just explode while waiting to give it to you.”

“You could just give it to me,” Bruce shrugged. Clark gasped.

“ _ No! _ I can’t give you your present early, Bruce. That’s….it’s practically illegal!”

Bruce snorted.

“Arrest me, then, Clark,” he said. “I gave you yours already.”

Clark contemplated this for a second, then shook his head.

“No. I won’t cave. I will force myself to wait until Christmas. Especially now that you know how amazing it’s going to be, cause it will torture you too!”

Bruce glowered at him.

“That’s positively evil, Clark.”

Clark laughed, walking over to the computer and climbing up onto Bruce’s lap so that he was straddling his crotch. He could feel Bruce instinctually grinding up into him, so he made himself float just enough that his own crotch was out of his reach.

Bruce glowered at him again.

“I take that back.  _ That’s _ positively evil. You’re such a fucking tease sometimes, Kent.”

“Ah. That may be so, but you love me anyway,” Clark said. He laughed and settled back down over his lap, taking Bruce’s mouth in his own.


	17. Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark has procured some enchanted mistletoe. Now Bruce HAS to kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's short because I realized I hadn't written today's yet when I was halfway through another ten page paper. School is positively killing me right now, but I'm almost done. I'm also almost done with the twenty-five days! I hope everyone is enjoying this as much as I'm enjoying writing them.
> 
> Much love :)
> 
> -Laynee

Bruce was walking through the door frame of his office, when suddenly and unwillingly he stopped completely in his tracks. He tried to take a step forward, but it seemed almost like his feet were glued to the floor. 

He pulled as hard as he could up and away from it, but he simply couldn't; no amount of force was enough to break him free.

Where a normal person would feel a bit frightened at this development, Bruce simply huffed in annoyance. This was the fourth time in the past twenty four hours that he had been stuck in place.

“Clark!” He called, swallowing the frustration in his voice. He glared up toward the top of the door frame, where a small green plant was hanging. This one had significantly more berries than the last one, but didn’t look any less annoying. “Clark! I’m stuck again! Get your ass to the office.”

He heard Clark chuckle from the other room, and despite his annoyance, he couldn’t help but smile and shake his head when he saw how gleeful Clark was at having to come rescue him.

“What’s the matter, B?” Clark said, pushing his glasses up his nose and feigning innocence. “Can’t you get out of the office?”

Bruce's smile faded, and it was replaced by a glare.

“Shut up, Clark,” he said. “How many fucking branches of this shit did you get Zatanna to curse?”

Clark beamed.

“A dozen,” he answered. “So you’ve found four of them! Only eight to go.”

Bruce growled a little under his breath. Clark’s smile got even broader.

“This is a waste of my time, Clark,” he said.

Clark replaced his smile with a sad frown, looking Bruce right in the eyes. His fiancé immediately looked away.

“Kissing me is a waste of time?” He said, trying his best to sound like a kicked puppy.

Bruce sighed, still refusing to meet his gaze.

“No. Waiting for you to get here so that you can free me is a waste of time. You have superspeed, and yet you’ve taken your damn time all four times.”

Clark maintained the puppy eyes, and moved so that he was in Bruce’s line of sight. He tried to look away again, to avoid catching his fiancé’s eye, but it didn’t work. He caught a glimpse of Clark’s sad face and sighed in defeat.

“Clark, give me a kiss.”

“Why? _Just_ so you can get out of your trap?”

Bruce sighed again.

“You don’t have to fucking trap me if you want a kiss, honey,” he said. “You can ask me for one anytime, and as long as I’m not in the suit, I’ll most likely comply.”

“ _ Most likely _ ,” Clark said, pointing his finger at Bruce. “Not every time. With Zatanna’s spell, I’m  _ guaranteed _ at least twelve kisses over the next day or so. I’m hiding the mistletoe in very convenient spots. Nowhere is safe. I can follow you around and plant it so that you inevitably have to walk under it. Plus, I can use that superspeed you mentioned so that you don't even know it's been planted!"

Bruce glared at him again. Clark quickly shifted back to puppy mode, this time even sticking his lip out in a pout.

“Clark. My wonderful, handsome, husband-to-be. I love you more than life itself, but I need you to give me a _goddamn_ kiss so that I can get back to work, okay?”

Clark raised his eyebrows, and Bruce sighed for the third time.

“Please, Clark? Kiss me.”

Clark smiled then.

“All you had to do was ask nicely,” he said. Bruce rolled his eyes as Clark pressed his lips to his. They could hear crinkling above them, which meant the mistletoe was disappearing. The kiss had broken the charm.

It was a good kiss, if Bruce was being honest. More tender than the others had been despite his own urgency. He even spared a few moments to let Clark linger, finally free to adjust his feet to a more comfortable position.

When they pulled away, Clark sighed contentedly with a big smile, and pressed his hand against Bruce’s cheek.

“I’ll see you for another kiss soon, my love,” he grinned.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bruce said as he walked up the hall. 

His lips were still a little tingly, and he smiled at the sensation.

_ I might have to bother Zatanna for some mistletoe of my own,  _ he thought.

He would never tell Clark...but he was secretly enjoying this little game...


	18. Sickly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is sick. Clark finds out and takes care of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loooooove this one.
> 
> I hope you do too!!

Clark knew something was wrong when he came into the cave the following evening to find Bruce fast asleep at the computer. He was still in the suit, his cowl pulled back and draping over his shoulders. His arms were crossed under his head and over the keyboard, his mouth open just enough that Clark could hear him snoring softly. His eyelids were fluttering slightly as he slept, and Clark was sure he had never seen anything more beautiful.

He tried to stay quiet for the first few minutes he was home, changing out of his costume in one of the side rooms and creeping upstairs to make his usual cup of coffee. He returned to the cave and stood silently, drinking his drink and watching Bruce sleep.

It might have been a little creepy, Clark would admit that, but they were  _ engaged _ ...so, he didn’t really care.

After about fifteen minutes Bruce moved, adjusting his head slightly without waking up. When he settled again, Clark couldn’t help but cringe at the incredibly awkward angle his neck was bent. He decided he’d better wake him up, before his muscles became sore.

“Bruce, sweetheart,” Clark whispered, walking toward the sleeping bat. When he didn’t move, Clark reached out and ever so gently tapped him on the shoulder.

Bruce reacted immediately, jolting up from his resting position and looking around him.

"What? I'm okay!" He yelled. When he saw Clark he sighed. "Oh. Hi, honey."

"Hi, Bruce," Clark replied, smiling softly. "You're okay?"

Bruce sniffled, and nodded, rubbing at his eyes. Clark noticed how swollen they looked, and on a normal day might have brushed it off as Bruce's exhaustion, but there was a distinct rosiness to his cheeks which, when backed against the pale pallor of the rest of his skin, was something he had learned to recognize in Damian.

Clark pressed the back of his hand to Bruce's forehead, realizing then how sweaty he was.

"I'm not very good at gauging temperature, B, but if I had to guess I'd say you have a fever."

Bruce turned away from him then, beginning to type again.

"I'm fine," he said, sternly. "I've had a long night."

Clark sighed, and looked over at the screen. 

“You’ve had a long  _ week _ ,” he said. “Bruce, I know you don’t like to ask for help, but you’re writing your report in first person.”

Bruce squinted at the screen, then backspaced rapidly, glaring at Clark.

“Nobody is allowed to write their reports in first person,” Clark continued. “Not even you. And you wrote that you were working with Robin.”

“I was,” Bruce said, frowning at Clark. “I was with Dick.”

Clark made sure his smile showed only care and kindness, and no ridicule as he corrected him.

“Bruce, love, Dick has been Nightwing for five years now…”

Bruce’s glare faded as he read back through the report. After a few minutes, he sighed and rested his head in his hands.

“Okay, Clark,” he said. “You win. I’m not feeling well at all.”

Clark said nothing further, but grasped Bruce’s hands and pulled him to his feet. Bruce allowed himself to be dragged along toward the shower in the cave and merely sighed again when Clark instructed him to sit on the bench.

Clark unclipped the heavy black cape hanging off of Bruce’s shoulders and hung it on the wall. He began to pull the fabric of the suit up over Bruce’s head, and smiled when his fiancé raised his arms to help. He pulled Bruce back to his feet and stripped him of his pants as well, pressing a tender kiss to his rosy cheek before pushing him toward the shower.

“I’ll call Dick and get enough information from him to finish your report, B,” he said. “Shower off. Cool water, please. It might help bring down your temperature.”

Bruce nodded tiredly. Clark collected the suit and returned it to the case. Then sat himself down at the computer.

With Dick on the line, he had finished the remainder of Bruce’s report in less than twenty minutes. It was right on time; he heard the shower shut off just as he hung up. Without a second thought, he headed back to where Bruce was, retrieving his plush robe and helping him out of the shower. Once he was dried and robed, Clark wrapped his arms around his shivering form.

“I kept the water cold…” Bruce said, his teeth chattering slightly. “But now  _ I’m really fucking cold _ .”

Clark chuckled lightly and lifted Bruce slightly off of the ground. Bruce settled his head into Clark’s neck, grumbling something about  _ being a grown ass man _ , but ultimately allowing Clark to take him upstairs.

Bruce was nearly asleep by the time they reached the bed, and Clark sighed when he saw the rosiness had returned to his fiancé’s cheeks.

“You need to eat something,” Clark said, nodding his head definitively. 

“ ‘M not hungry,” Bruce grumbled, rolling over in bed and pulling an extra blanket up over his body. Clark shook his head and took it away from him, trying not to laugh at Bruce’s  _ literal _ pout. 

“You’ll overheat if you wear an extra blanket  _ and  _ eat hot soup.”

Bruce was about to protest, but Clark cut him off.

“ _ And _ cuddle with your loving fiancé who has, for some reason, really really missed you today.”

Bruce closed his mouth at that, contemplating the blanket and Clark.

“Okay, go,” Bruce grumbled. “But you better be back for my cuddle as soon as Kryptonian-ly possible.”

Clark felt he might burst with fondness. Bruce when he was feeling under the weather was quite the sight to see. He lost some of his discipline, and as a result, was a lot more emotional, and a lot more cheeky. It was  _ adorable _ .

“I promise, sweetheart. I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

\-----

It only took Clark a little less than 10 minutes to retrieve the soup, but when he returned, Bruce was already fast asleep, the same soft snores coming from his lips. Once again, Clark felt he might burst, and as much as he wanted Bruce to eat, he decided he wouldn’t wake him.

It was so rare for Bruce to dedicate time to sleeping that he didn’t want to interrupt again. Plus, he looked so peaceful--the absence of stress-lines really suited him, and Clark wished he knew how to make Bruce feel so at ease more often.

Placing the soup on the bedside table, Clark briefly pulled back the covers so that he could climb in with his fiancé. Bruce mumbled as soon as the cold air hit his skin, but at the feeling of Clark lying next to him, quickly and unconsciously changed his attitude.

Bruce rolled into him, burrowing his head deeper into the pillow and wrapping his arm around Clark’s chest. Clark chuckled softly, raising an arm and laying it on the pillow over Bruce’s head. At this, Bruce shifted again, laying his head on Clark’s shoulder instead and sighing contentedly.

The soft snores returned, and Clark decided that as much as he hated seeing Bruce ill, he wouldn’t mind if it happened a little more often.

There was nothing quite like a snuggly bat.


	19. Scarves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is still sick, so Clark forces him to wear a red scarf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet. Love you guys.
> 
> Thank you for all of your support. This is almost done already!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Laynee

“Put on the scarf, Bruce,” Clark said, shaking his head at his stubborn fiancé. “You look so cold, and you’re being absolutely ridiculous.”

Bruce glared at him from under the mask, his white lenses narrowing into Batman’s most vicious scowl. As usual, the glare had no effect on Clark and he, once again, thrust the thick red fabric forward.

“Put. It. On,” he tried again. Bruce grumbled audibly, then pulled out his grapple gun and shot it off into the night. Clark rolled his eyes as he watched him swing away, rising slowly from the ground and flying after him.

Clark was already waiting for Bruce when he found his footing on the roof.

“Jesus fuck, Clark,” He growled, ignoring the scarf deliberately again and returning to his brooding. Superman was getting impatient at this point. He could see the rosiness on Bruce’ cheeks, and given that the bat was already sick, he was increasingly frustrated at Bruce’s blatant refusal to just take care of himself.

“No. Jesus fuck to you, B,” Clark said. “Are you forgetting that you keeled over on the computer last night because you were  _ sick and exhausted _ ? Are you forgetting that you woke up this morning with a fever of 103.2? Are you forgetting that that’s high enough to warrant a visit to the ER and that you  _ insisted _ on going on patrol instead? Despite mine and Alfred’s wishes?”

Bruce said nothing, just stared out into the night. Clark stepped forward and thrust the red scarf into the bat’s hands, shooting him his own menacing glare.

“We  _ let you _ , Bruce,” he continued. “We’re incredibly concerned for your health and safety, but you  _ didn’t fucking listen _ , so, so help me god, you’re going to take this scarf and you’re going to wrap it around your face, and you’re going to let it warm you up. And I’m going to fly to Metropolis and do a patrol of the city, and whenever I finish that, I am coming back to get you, and unless Gotham is about to explode, you’re  _ coming with me. _ You’re coming with me, and you’re going to have another cool shower, and eat more of Alfred’s soup, and we’re going to curl up on the goddamn couch, and cuddle and watch a Christmas movie.”

Bruce looked sideways at him. Clark couldn’t quite read his expression, but fully anticipated the demand to turn into an argument.

That’s why he was absolutely shocked when Bruce simply nodded and said, “Okay.”

That’s why he was completely taken aback when Bruce actually accepted the red fabric, throwing it over his shoulders and tying it around his face. 

Before he had the chance to say anything at all, Clark watched Bruce fall forward off the side of the building. It took all of his willpower not to dive off after him. When they worked together, it was easy for Clark to forget the plethora of gadgets that Bruce had, and most importantly, that his cape wasn’t only for show. He listened to Bruce’s boots make contact with someone’s face, and as the crunching of bone sent a shudder through his spine, Clark took off into the night himself. 

\-----

Metropolis was admittedly not very busy; Clark could have finished up his patrol within a half hour and returned almost immediately to Gotham.

But he couldn’t allow Bruce’s cooperativity go unnoticed and unacknowledged, so he stayed in the city, flying between the buildings and enjoying the cold evening air of the night. 

Their cities--sister cities, as some called them--were gorgeous at night, the windows in their tall skyscrapers lighting up the skyline like a Christmas tree. Clark smiled at the sight, and continued flying for a while, eventually touching down on the top of the Planet.

He sat himself down at the edge of the roof, scooching forward and dangling his legs over the sprawling city below. He inhaled deeply, trying to force away his concerns for Bruce. Eventually, he tuned in to his heartbeat, listening from his perch to the steady thumping in his love’s chest.

It calmed him, steadied his breaths and made him feel more secure in his own body to listen to the rhythmic sound of Bruce's. It was a strange concept; one that, despite their years of knowing each other, Clark still was not adjusted to. It was also one that he relied on more than he'd care for Bruce to know.

He expanded his hearing range enough that he could determine whether or not Bruce was fighting anyone, and when it became clear that he was once again alone, Clark dropped himself off the edge of the building and shot off toward Gotham.

Bruce was perched on a gargoyle at the old cathedral when he arrived and, much to Clark's surprise for the third time that night, willingly allowed Clark to wrap him up in his arms, scarf and all.

“They laughed at me, Clark,” Bruce said quietly and into Clark’s chest. “They laughed at the scarf.”

Clark couldn’t explain quite why his heart melted as much as it did, knowing that Bruce wouldn’t normally have given even  _ half _ a shit what a couple of Riddler’s punks thought about him. Tonight was different, though, he knew. Bruce was sick, and when he was sick he was emotional. Apparently that meant he was self conscious.

Clark was proud of the fact that the scarf was still around Bruce’s face.

“I’m sorry, B,” he said, softly, squeezing the Bat closer to his chest. “I know it’s inconvenient, but I’m glad you put it on. You seem a little less shivery now. Maybe we can get Alfred to rig something up to keep your face warmer, although my scarf seemed to do the trick."

“Mmmm,” Bruce mumbled. Clark didn’t hear him, so he chuckled and asked him to repeat.

Bruce huffed and pulled the scarf down from over his mouth.

“I said _fine_. But, does it come in black?”

Clark just laughed and shook his head.

“I’m sure we can figure something out, Mr. Grumpy Bats."

He gently kissed his forehead.

"I love you, B. Let's get you home."


	20. Traveling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce takes a sad Clark up to the fortress for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm done all of my exams! So now I can write a little bit more! Yay!
> 
> Enjoy! ;)
> 
> -Laynee

Five days before Christmas, it rained in Gotham.

Clark was devastated, so much so that he actually spent the afternoon with his hands and nose pressed against the window in Bruce’s office at Wayne Enterprises, watching the snow slowly melt away as his fiancé worked away behind him.

Bruce spent that whole time drifting between actually working and rolling his eyes at  _ himself _ , because somehow Clark’s ridiculous overreaction to the rain made him feel genuinely sorry for him. When Clark let out the most heartbreakingly soft and discouraged sigh, Bruce was struck with the urge to do something about it.

“Clark, honey,” he said softly. Clark turned around, his face not exactly turned down in a frown, but looking crestfallen nonetheless.

“What’s up, Bruce?” He said, quietly in return. “Do you need me to leave?”

“Well, yes, but only because I’m leaving too. Grab your bag and let’s head home, okay?”

Clark nodded and sighed with one last disheartened look out the window. He pulled his bag over his shoulder, and the way he clutched at Bruce’s hand as they walked to the elevator made his heart hurt.

“Actually, Clark,” he said, when he had gotten to the lobby. “I forgot something in the safe. Can you just wait here a minute while I go back for it?”

Clark nodded solemnly and sank down into one of the fancy plush couches. Bruce took the elevator back up to his office, but didn’t actually go back in. Instead, he pulled out his phone and called Alfred.

“Can you ready the jet and a bag of clothes for Clark and I, please, Alfred? I’m going to fly him up to the arctic for the night. I think he needs to get away from the bad weather.”

When Alfred had agreed and promised to have everything ready within the hour, Bruce took the elevator back down to the lobby. He smiled softly when he saw that Clark was leaning over his knees, his hands pushing his cheeks up.

He really seemed sad, and Bruce hoped that a visit to the very snowy fortress would make him feel a little more Christmassy.

“Let’s go,” he said, offering his hand again as he passed Clark. The younger man took it silently, and they left the building together.

Clark continued his moping as they crossed the city, looking out the window at the grey sky for the most part, and occasionally sighing and watching the windshield wipers of Bruce’s car. They drove in silence, Bruce’s right hand holding Clark’s over the gearshift while he steered with the left. He’d squeeze occasionally, and though Clark squeezed back it lacked the usual cheerful vigor he was known for. 

Bruce was used to Clark being the light to his darkness, so it felt strange to know his fiancé was set in a state of melancholy. He continued to hope that their trip would help as they pulled into the drive of the manor. 

True to his word, Alfred had a car ready and waiting for them when they returned. If Clark noticed it, he didn’t say anything, still clutching Bruce’s hand as they made their way inside. Bruce walked with him until they reached his office, Clark only letting go when he thought that Bruce was going to sit and work again. To his surprise, he was pulled into a hug instead.

“Let’s go up to the fortress tonight, Clark,” Bruce said. “There is one tradition from my childhood that we have not yet upheld, and I think tonight is a good night to do it.”

Clark pulled away and gave him a funny look.

“Why do we have to go to the fortress?” he asked.

Bruce smiled.

“This tradition is much more enjoyable when we’re surrounded by snow, and based on the shitty weather we’ve been having, we won’t have that here. The ambiance will be better.”

Clark smiled softly.

“Besides,” Bruce continued. “It’d be nice to have the flight to spend together. Last time you had a deadline for Perry, but since you get the holidays this year, you’re off for long enough that you won’t have to do work. We can catch up.”

He resisted the urge to wink suggestively, despite the fact that this trip was genuinely just about making Clark feel better.

Although, Bruce wouldn’t complain if it ended up going somewhere else.

He shook his head, just to himself, then met Clark’s gaze. His eyes had gone soft, and he could tell that Clark liked the sound of that.

“Alfred has the car packed already, and the jet should be waiting for us at Aerospace. We can grab some takeout on the drive, and eat on the plane if you’d like?”

Clark nodded and took Bruce by the hand again.

\----

After they had found each of the boys and let them know their plans, Bruce leaving a wad of cash for Dick to order themselves takeout of some sort as well and instructing Alfred that he was to take the evening off, they made their way over to Aerospace.

True to Bruce’s word, they stopped for takeout, just from a little Italian restaurant that Clark loved to visit and often chose when they went out in Gotham.

The flight was nice; it would have taken much longer commercial, and while they were in the air they mused about how nice it was to have a private jet that flew much faster than a standard plane. They touched down in just under three hours, Clark’s mood improved greatly primarily because of the time they had spent together, but also partially because of the blanket of white surrounding them.

Clark threw their bags over his shoulder, then waited patiently while Bruce bundled himself up. Once they were ready, Clark picked his fiance up with one arm, and took off in the air. After only around thirty seconds of flying, Clark had landed them in front of the fortress, pressing his hand to the icy security system Bruce had installed for him. The door opened, and they were hit with a gush of warmth that Bruce was incredibly grateful for.

Once they had settled, throwing their bags into the bedroom that had been put in for the two of them, Clark began to show his curiosity.

“So what’s the tradition we’re upholding tonight?” he asked, playing gently with Bruce’s fingers as they laid together on the couch. 

Bruce smiled and rubbed his chin casually. Then he sighed, as if the moment was bittersweet.

“My mother and father always made me sit and watch a movie with them multiple times during the season. Mother always tried to find new movies to watch, but Father insisted that at least once a season, we watch his favourite.”

Clark shifted slightly to look at Bruce. 

“Are we going to watch his favourite?”

Bruce nodded.

“It’s a Wonderful Life...I hope that’s okay with you.”

Clark smiled broadly.

“Are you kidding? That’s a classic, B. I’ll never say no to that one.”

Bruce returned his grin, then slipped out from under Clark’s weight to set up the film on the TV. He was often grateful for all the work he had done in the fortress--mostly to make it more inhabitable for himself--but never had been as much as he was tonight. 

They passed the movie in relative silence, just wrapped up in each other and the warmth that the movie brought to their hearts. Bruce had seen it enough that he got through the ending without shedding a single tear, despite the memories attached.

Clark however, did not, sniffling loudly and drying his eyes on Bruce’s shirt as the credits rolled.

Bruce kissed his wet cheek, pulling a face at the salty taste of tears. Clark laughed at that, curling himself impossibly closer to Bruce’s chest.

“Thanks for this, B,” he said, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly. “I’m sorry I was such a bummer today.”

Bruce shook his head.

“You know you’re usually a beacon for me, Clark,” he said. “It’s alright for you to have days where you can’t manage that. It’s a lot to handle sometimes, being bright and cheerful. I don’t know how you do it. And really, if there was anyone who would understand the occasional need to let the doom and gloom pervade the day, it would be me.”

Clark laughed.

“Yes, how could I think otherwise, Mr. Grumpy Bats?”

Bruce pressed another kiss to his forehead this time, then the two of them sat in silence for a while.

When Clark was almost asleep, Bruce decided they should move over to the bedroom. Contrary to what they usually ended up doing, it seemed, Bruce scooped Clark up into his arms and carried  _ him  _ to bed, wrapping him tightly in blankets and pulling him close to his chest. After a few minutes, Clark murmured into his shoulder.

“It really is a wonderful life, isn’t it, B?”

Bruce smiled to himself, and kissed his hair.

“With you?...yeah. It really is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Clark and Bruce return to Gotham the next day, the rain has turned to snow and everything is white and wonderful again. Just FYI :)


	21. Christmas Movie AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has a dream, a la A Christmas Carol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe how close to Christmas we are...it so doesn't feel like it!
> 
> I am SO excited for the next four chapters, and then...we're done! Oh my gosh. It's been so fun for me.
> 
> Anyway. Thank you so much for the comments. I am so grateful for all of you.
> 
> -Laynee

When Bruce was a child, he didn't believe in ghosts.

He heard stories, of course, and watched scary movies when he was far too young and against his parents' wishes.

But until he became a hero; a member of the Justice League; he'd never even given the possibility a second thought.

Now it seemed they met a new one every other week.

And that was why, armed with his personal experiences with the phantom realm, Bruce was unsurprised to land on a Gotham rooftop in the middle of the night on December 21st, to find a young woman waiting for him, her barely visible skin as pale as a sheet and half-blending in with the dark night sky, her glowing blond hair flickering like the flame of a candle.

Bruce had to suppress a snort when the ghost spoke to him; despite his lack of enthusiasm for the holiday, he was still very aware of classic Christmas lore, including Dickens' famous tale.

But what was the ghost of Christmas Past doing in Gotham? And how did he know Batman's true name?

"Can I help you?" Bruce asked monotonously, looking around as if he expected to find someone else the ghost might be talking to. It cleared its throat.

" _ I said _ ,  _ I am The Ghost of Christmas Past!” _

“Okay, yes,” Bruce said, raising his gloved hands and nodding. “I know that...but why are you here?”

_ “Don’t you know, Bruce Wayne? The story of Ebenezer Scrooge?” _

Bruce sighed.

“Yes, I am...aware of it. I can’t say it’s one of my favourites.”

_ “I am aware, Mr. Wayne. But if you are familiar with his tale, surely you know why I am here.” _

Bruce narrowed his eyes at the ghost, infuriated by what it was implying. 

“Are you  _ seriously _ implying that I’m...I’m on the same level as...as Scrooge? I mean...I’m not the biggest fan of Christmas, I’ll freely admit that. But I don’t think I’m as selfish...and as greedy...and...and…”

The Ghost of Christmas Past nodded her head slightly, then reached a hand out to Bruce. He looked at it, as if it was going to burn him, then hesitantly accepted the gesture.

His gut twisted, and suddenly he found himself standing in the corner of the lounge at the manor, watching a small black-haired child tear hastily at the gift boxes in front of him.

It was clear it was his younger self--he was watching a memory from his childhood. Young Bruce shook box after box, and while certain packages contained toys he liked, there were so many items he simply discarded to the side, in favour of opening more presents. Never once did the child utter the words “Thank you.”

There was a sinking feeling in Bruce’s chest as The Ghost droned on beside him, a long monologue about memory and greed, and seeing a reflection of the man he would become in the young boy at the tree.

Before he knew it, Bruce was being pulled back to the rooftop, but The Ghost of Christmas Past was gone. In her place was a middle aged man, that immediately struck Bruce as resembling a young Jim Gordon. He, too, was pale and nearly transparent, but had a friendlier demeanor about him.

_ “I am The Ghost of Christmas Present, Bruce Wayne.” _

Bruce could only nod at this, still thinking about his younger self. When the ghost offered him a hand, he accepted it fairly readily. Once again, he was at the manor, but this time he found himself in Damian’s bedroom, lurking as a silent observer while he watched a live replay of his conversation with his son.

“This is when he injured Clark,” Bruce said aloud. The Ghost of Christmas Present nodded his head, and then he, too, launched into a long monologue about kindness, generosity, caring, and compassion.

Bruce watched his own arms flailing as he yelled at Damian, the look on his own face absolutely venomous. He had been furious, and hadn’t stopped to consider a better way to approach the matter.

He sighed loudly as the Ghost of Christmas Present returned them to the rooftop, Bruce now mulling over not only his past selfishness, but his present coldness to his children as well.

Unsurprisingly, the second ghost disappeared immediately, and Bruce found himself faced with the third and final ghost. He didn’t wait for introductions, just stuck out his hand and waited for the twist of his stomach.

When he landed, he felt very confused. He was in the future, clearly, standing by the window in his office at Wayne Enterprises. Clark was in front of the Bruce that was sitting at the desk, a gold wedding band now resting on his finger next to the engagement ring. Bruce smiled to himself as he watched, until he realized that Clark was pushing divorce papers toward him.

“He...he leaves me…” Bruce said, quietly. The Ghost of Christmas Future, a dark, cloaked figure who resembled Death himself nodded next to him. “He sees through it all eventually, doesn’t he?”

The ghost nodded again.

“He realizes how selfish and cold I am, and that he doesn’t really need me in his life.”

The ghost simply nodded again, and Bruce was beginning to wonder if he even spoke at all. 

He never got the chance to find out. Suddenly, and leaving Bruce behind to wallow in the reality of his future, or lack thereof, with Clark, the ghost began to disappear, slowly fading away. 

Bruce was unsure what to do, scared to remain where he was--to not have a chance to change and to repair the broken future that lay ahead of him. 

He stepped toward his future self, toward Clark.

“Clark, no! I’ll change, I swear! I’ll like Christmas! I’ll be more giving and compassionate, and I won’t be so cold! I promise I can change!”

To his surprise, the Clark from the future turned toward him and spoke.

“Bruce!” he said, which stopped the phantom Bruce in his tracks. “Bruce?”

The future version of him did not acknowledge him, though, which was what he found most unnerving.

“Bruce?” Clark asked again, reaching a hand out and touching his arm. “Bruce? Bruce! C’mon, B, wake up! Bruce?”

Bruce’s eyes flew open, the light of their bedside lamp highly unwelcome as he rapidly blinked the sleep away. His hand flew to his bicep, where it met Clark’s; the  _ real _ Clark’s. He grabbed it and squeezed in an attempt to get his bearings, and after a few moments he realized how fast his heart was beating, his chest heaving and his neck and forehead coated in sweat.

“Bad dream?” Clark asked, his voice gentle and full of love. Bruce nodded weakly, still absorbing his surroundings.

“I had...ghosts...Christmas…I was...Dickens…”

Clark smiled gently.

“You dreamed you were visited by them, didn’t you?” 

Bruce nodded again, squeezing his eyes shut and squeezing Clark’s hand.

“They showed me how selfish I was, as a child...they told me I still am and I see it now. And I’m so cold and unkind to you and the boys...and then they took me to the future, and you were...you wanted a divorce because you’d seen it all. You’d seen the worst in me and you left.”

Clark squeezed his hand back and smiled again.

“It was a bad dream, sweetheart,” he said. 

  
“No, no,” Bruce said. “It was unbelievably real Clark. I saw the fight with Damian, I saw how cruel I was, and unreasonable...I saw myself as a child...I never thanked my parents for anything and I just kept wanting and wanting…”

“Bruce,” Clark interrupted. “Stop, love. Breathe.”

Bruce inhaled deeply.

“Your conversation with Damian was not unreasonable--remember he put  _ Kryptonite _ in a snowball, just for fun. You were right that it wasn’t acceptable, and he won’t learn to recognize his violent actions if we don’t point them out. And as for your childhood...B...every kid has those moments of greed and want...I mean...you don’t really know those are things you need to limit and control...you can’t call yourself selfish and greedy because of what you did when you were less than 10 years old.”

Bruce inhaled again.

“Just because you don’t love Christmas, B, doesn’t mean that I don’t love you. I never meant for this to become something you had nightmares over...I just...I wanted to share something that I love with the  _ person I love  _ most in the world.”

Bruce nodded.

“I know. I’m sorry. It was silly. Can we just...can we go back to sleep?”

Clark pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Of course we can, love.”

Bruce relaxed again, laying back and rolling onto his side so that his arm draped over Clark’s chest.

"I should have known it was fake," Bruce laughed to himself after a minute or two. "I'm pretty sure the Ghost of Christmas Present was actually just Jim Gordon in a costume."

Clark laughed and squeezed his fiancé tighter.

“I love you, Bruce,” Clark whispered. “And even if you turn into the literal Ebenezer Scrooge, that will never  _ ever _ change.”


	22. Family AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team encounters Klarion the Witch Boy, and well...they act a little childish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...originally this was going to be a one chapter thing, but I've decided it fits so perfectly with three of the prompts. I mean...the Batfam can't really have a family AU when they're already a family, right? So a time spell it is. All will be back to normal by Christmas morning.
> 
> I hope you enjoy adorable toddler batboys as much as I do.
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting! :)
> 
> -Laynee

There was something that Clark had learned very quickly after becoming a hero:

He  _ hated _ magic.

Not only was it the only thing aside from Kryptonite that he was vulnerable to, he also just found it incredibly  _ annoying _ . Those who wielded magic had the power to do almost anything they could imagine, which meant that while it was super handy to have heroes like Fate and Zatanna on their side, it was horribly inconvenient to face magical villains.

Especially, Clark had learned, when that magical villain was  _ Klarion. _

His Ma and Pa had really tried to instill in Clark the inability to actually  _ hate _ another human being, but every time Superman came face to face with the Witch Boy, he felt damn close to simply dropping that lesson in favour of punching him in the face.

As he, Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim,  _ and _ Damian all circled around him, Clark could physically feel the disgust and distaste radiating off of his family. Clearly he wasn’t the only one who despised the young sorcerer, who was much too powerful for his maturity level. 

Literally, all Klarion did was jump through time and space, using his magic to wreak havoc and steal ancient relics and artifacts that would help make him more powerful. 

He was a vicious cycle of  _ annoying _ , and everyone had cursed when they realized who it was attacking Gotham’s Museum of Natural History, undoubtedly after an old book or scroll or something.

Batman had called Zatanna en route to the museum, but she hadn’t been available. Neither had Jason Blood, and Dr. Fate didn’t respond to his comm at all. That meant that Bruce had had to call one of his last resorts. Clark didn’t mind John at all, really, but the rest of the family were not fans.

It didn’t help Constantine’s case in the eyes of the bats when he didn’t arrive as timely as he could have, especially given that his tardiness allowed Klarion enough time to land a few spells not only on the museum, but on them as well.

Particularly, on each of the boys. 

As soon as Constantine’s portal appeared, Klarion stepped into his own and away from the scene. Whatever he’d been after, he hadn’t gotten it. But as Clark looked around at what was now in front of him, he knew he’d done enough damage anyhow.

“Aw, damnit, mate. I missed him!” he said, when he finally stepped into the museum foyer. “I’m absolutely knackered, Bats. I came as fast as I could manage. Morgan Le Fay had me out til the wee hours last night. I hardly had time to rest.”

Bruce was standing perfectly still, just staring at the boys. Clark waited a few seconds, expecting his fiancé to step forward and help them, but he didn’t initially. Neither of them really reacted at all.

Until a baby’s cry filled the air.

“Daddy! Papa! What happened?” Came a small voice to Clark’s left. 

He looked, and saw a young, raven-haired boy running toward him, a  _ very  _ large and now very dirty costume hanging off of his body. As he got closer, Clark noticed the unmistakable tuft of white hair right above his forehead. 

“Papa? Where are we?” Jason asked, wrapping his arms around Clark’s calf and squeezing it tight. “What’s going on?”

“Klarion’s a little prick,” Constantine snorted. He was facing towards the inside of the museum, and clearly hadn’t noticed what had happened to the boys yet. “S’always been dodgy and far too powerful for his own good. Him and that fucken pussy of his.”

Another boy, who looked to be a little older than Jason and had the same raven hair, walked up to John and tapped him on the back of his leg. Dick’s costume was far too big on him now as well, and as Clark realized what was happening, he looked around desperately for Tim and Damian, both of whom would most likely now be far too young to even remotely have any idea what was going on.

“Blimey!” Constantine yelled, jumping back and away from Dick. “Nightwing?!”

Clark watched as Bruce scrambled forward suddenly, tracing the sound of the crying to a bundle of red, yellow, and green. He moved the fabric aside and revealed a screaming baby Damian, now without any sort of clothes or swaddle and likely completely frozen.

“Bruce?” Clark asked, subconsciously entangling his fingers gently in the hair of the boy at his leg. Bruce gave him a wide eyed look of confusion, then pulled the baby close to his chest. He looked around for a few moments, before he grabbed his cape. He kept it attached to his shoulders, but swung most of the fabric around to the front of his body and hastily wrapped Damian in it. He held him with both arms wrapped tightly around his body, trying his best to impart his own body heat on the infant.

“Daddy?! Papa?! Alfie?! Dickie?! HELP!”

Both Clark and Bruce whipped their heads around to find Tim, who had apparently been turned into a toddler. He too, still had his oversized costume on, but Red Robin’s hood and cape had fallen down over his eyes. He was walking forward blindly, holding his arms outstretched and evidently looking for someone older that he trusted.

Clark and Bruce shared a look, but apparently it took too long. Tim stopped where he stood and scrabbled at the fabric over his head. It didn’t budge, and he very quickly became distressed, hiccups and sobs wracking his chest as he repeatedly called out for Clark and Bruce.

“Papa!! Daddy!! Please!! Papa?”

Clark was at his side before he could call for Bruce again, having scooped Jason up into his arms. He put Jay back down, ignoring the way the older boy latched back on his arm as he knelt down to take Tim’s cape off.

As soon as he could see Clark, Tim’s tears subsided and he launched himself forward. Between Jason’s weight on his arm and Tim’s body against his chest, Clark was sure he’d have fallen over if he wasn’t Kryptonian.

“Hey, Timmy,” he murmured softly into the toddler’s ear. “Hey, bud. I’m here.”

“Papa, who’s that?” Jason asked, tugging at Clark’s sleeve and pointing to Constantine. Clark frowned, then stood up. He kept Tim curled up in his arms, and reached for Jay’s hand. They walked back toward where Dick, Constantine, and Bruce stood, Dami still wrapped in his arms.

“Are you the bad guy who broke in here?” Dick was asking John, his face severe and accusatory. “Because my Daddy and Papa stop bad guys like you!”

Constantine raised his hands in defense, looking rapidly back and forth between Batman and Superman. 

“He’s a good guy, Dick,” Clark said. Jason let go of Clark’s hand then, and ran toward his older brother.

“Let’s get him, Dickie!” he yelled, aiming a kick at Constantine’s shin. Fortunately, John jumped back in time to avoid it. Clark rushed forward at that, scooping Jason up and shifting the boys so he had one in each arm. Bruce stepped up too, and grabbed Dick by the hand. They pulled them away from Constantine so that the man could relax.

Clark didn’t envy the mystic at that particular moment. Bruce had a screaming baby tucked into his cape, and his 23-year-old son was gripping his hand at his side. He was directing one of his signature glares at John, who was sputtering in confusion.

“Holy shit, Bats…” he said. “I don’t...what in the bloody hell happened?”

Bruce began to growl under his breath, but Clark tapped the back of his leg with his toe.

“Jaylad,” he said quietly to the boy in his right arm. “Hey, bud. Can you tell Mr. Constantine how old you are? It’s okay. He’s a friend of ours.”

Jason puffed up his chest and drew his hands into fists.

“I’m six!” He said, proudly. “I may be young, but I guarantee I can kick your ass!”

Clark had to refrain from laughing. Clearly Jason’s attitude and at least some of his vocabulary had remained intact. 

“Six,” Bruce snarled. He looked down at the raven-haired boy holding his hand. “Dick. Are you ten years old?”

Dick nodded up at Bruce, then smiled at Jason. “But I’m turning eleven in March!”

Clark smiled at him, while Jason stuck his tongue out. Bruce simply continued glaring at Constantine..

“Six. Ten. That’s thirteen years, John. That means Tim is four, and explains why Damian’s only 5 months old!”

“Okay…” John said, biting his lip. “Okay. So Klarion knocked ‘em back a few years. I can...I can try to fix it?”

Bruce growled again.

“You better do more than try John, so help me-”

“ _ Bruce! _ ” Clark warned, looking at the hiccupping baby in his arms. “Not really the best time.”

Constantine stepped forward and raised his hands, his palms facing them. He muttered some sort of incantation under his breath, and Clark closed his eyes, fully prepared to end up holding two practically grown men in his arms.

Nothing changed though, and when he opened his eyes again, he was met with a very sheepish Constantine. 

“I’m…I’m sorry Bats, Supes,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I...uh...I can’t reverse it.”

Clark flashed Bruce a semi-panicked look, but then John continued.

“But it’ll wear off! Probably in...I would say… three days time?”

Bruce returned Clark’s gaze, then turned back to Constantine.

“So Clark and I are stuck with some toddlers until Christmas, is what you’re saying.”

John nodded.

“‘M ‘fraid so.”

Clark inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly.

“Okay. Well, Klarion is gone, and Damian’s positively freezing. We need to get home.”

Without them even having to ask, John opened a portal next to him.

“This’ll take you home,” he said. He gestured toward the front of the museum with his head. “I’ll send your vehicles back to the cave.”

Clark smiled gently, then thanked him for his help. Bruce just glared at him as he squeezed Dick's hand and led him toward the portal. Clark followed.

They stepped out into the cave. As soon as they saw where they were, the two boys in Clark’s arms began squirming like crazy. He let them down, and watched as they ran off toward the stairs up to the manor, Dick leading them. 

Clark went immediately to the showers, grabbing several thick, fluffy towels and bringing them back to the cave. He laid them flat out on Bruce’s desk, and gestured for him to lay Damian down. They worked silently together, folding the towel around him until they had managed a makeshift swaddle.

Clark lifted him up into his own arms, then, staring down at his now peaceful face. The crying had stopped, likely because Dami was finally warming up.

Both Clark and Bruce heard the door behind the clock open, and a pair of gentle footsteps came tapping down the stairs. Alfred appeared, Jason’s helmet in hand and looking incredibly confused.

Bruce shrugged his shoulders and sat down in his desk chair as the butler took in the sight of tiny baby Damian.

“Surprise,” Clark smiled. “I guess we have a few kids for the next 72 hours!”

Alfred’s eyes widened.

“Merry Christmas?” Clark laughed. 

Bruce groaned and rested his head in his hands, as screaming laughter floated down through the open door in the lounge. Alfred’s face shifted to a smirk, and he pat Bruce gently on the shoulder.

“Merry indeed.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	23. Waiting Up For Santa (Children AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark and Bruce's first full day with the baby bats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of day 22! Please read it first, otherwise this is totally random!
> 
> This chapter is very domestic. I hope you enjoy. It's so fluffy and sweet, and my heart and teeth ache now.
> 
> *Happy sigh*
> 
> Thanks for the support, as always. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> -Laynee

That evening, Clark and Bruce had ventured out to a couple local shops while Alfred--being the only one with actual childcare experience--looked after the kids.

They were only gone for just over an hour, returning home with 5 outfits for each of the boys, and some onesies, diapers, and formula for Damian. While they were out, Bruce had also picked up a few more child-friendly games for their console, hoping that they might be able to keep them busy if all else failed.

When they got home, both of them were bombarded by laughing children, jumping all over them wearing what was clearly some of Bruce’s old clothes.

“I could only find some shirts and sweaters from your teenagehood, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, calmly rocking Damian in his arms. Somehow he was still asleep, despite the excess noise generated by his brothers. “They worked in a pinch, but I am very glad to see you have procured some actual clothes. Those will do much better for the next few days.”

Clark took Dick, Jason, and Tim upstairs, wrestling them all into the master bathroom to wash them down and change them into some pajamas. It was fairly late at night by that time, past what would likely normally be considered an appropriate bedtime for children their age.

Bruce stayed down with Alfred so that the butler could show him how to diaper and dress Damian, Clark promising to learn the next time it needed doing. They both figured that Clark’s strength would likely be an asset at bath time, and they were right.

Clark ended up bathing them one at a time, setting the other two in front of the TV while he did so. They were scuffed and dirty from the fight, otherwise they likely would have avoided this step altogether. Alfred claimed he did not feel morally right sending them to bed dirty.

Dick didn’t put up too much of a fight; in fact, at 10, he could do most of the cleaning himself. Clark didn’t mind, but also felt too anxious about his safety to leave him in the bathroom alone. So, for Dick, he just sat back and thought about what had happened.

Tim wasn’t too bad either. Bruce had thought to purchase a rubber duck, thankfully, so the four-year-old was delighted to simply sit still and squeak the duck repeatedly in Clark’s face. It was annoying, but at least it kept him busy.

Clark had to call Bruce up for Jason, though, despite his excess strength. He apparently  _ hated _ bathtime, although in reality, he hadn’t been forced to take anything but a five minute shower in more than 10 years. He splashed them with water, cried when he got shampoo in his eyes (though he didn’t really, Clark hadn’t even used it yet), and refused to stand still for Bruce to dry him off. He ended up booking it out of the bathroom sopping wet and completely naked, and was caught somewhere up the hall by a laughing Alfred who brought him back to Clark hanging by his ankles and giggling like crazy.

When Jason, too, had been clothed in his pajamas, the family ventured down to the lounge. They set the older boys up playing Mario Kart on the big TV, and Alfred took Bruce and Clark into the kitchen to show them how to mix and heat the formula, and how to prep the bottle. Damian stayed in Bruce’s arms the entire time, making small cooing and squeaking noises as he looked up at his biological father. Clark could tell that, while his fiance was entirely out of his element, he was also thoroughly enjoying seeing his son so small.

Clark had rarely thought about how that chance had been stripped from him; Damian was conceived almost entirely against Bruce’s will, and he wasn’t even aware he existed until the 10 year old was essentially dropped at his door.

Clark smiled softly as Bruce held his baby close and Alfred finished explaining all that he knew about feeding a five month old. 

By this time, it was almost midnight. The boys were beginning to look sleepy, but they were admittedly very unsure of what to do with them. 

Alfred insisted that all except Damian would be fine in their regular beds, and yet Clark felt heartsick at the thought of sending them off to their own rooms. They were all large enough to accommodate adults; surely that would be a daunting amount of space for, say, a four-year-old.

“I’ll stay down here with them,” Clark decided eventually. “I’ll just turn on some movies and leave the volume really quiet. Dami can sleep in my arms or on my lap, and the boys can sleep on the couches. I don’t actually need sleep anyway, it’s more of a habit I’ve gotten myself into than anything. You guys go on up.”

Bruce started to protest but Clark was insistent, and the way that Jason and Tim were already nodding off told them they had to decide fairly quickly.

In the end, Bruce and Alfred bade them all a good night, with a hug and gentle kiss from each of the boys. Clark settled into the chair with Dami on his lap. The infant had grabbed his thumb and was holding tightly to it as he slept, short, soft, and sweet breaths barely audible over the breathing of the other boys.

“What have we gotten ourselves into, boys?” Clark murmured softly as he pressed play on the first film. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

\-----

Clark found he wasn’t as exhausted as he figured he might be, and saw that as a sign that he really  _ didn’t _ need much sleep. The boys were all awake, save for Damian, around 6:30 in the morning, so Clark took them up to the library and tried to find a book or two that might be kid friendly.

He was surprised to find a whole section of one of the massive shelves dedicated to old children’s detective novels, including the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew. He laughed heartily when Jason tugged on his arm and asked to be picked up to look at the books. When Clark shifted Damian to one arm and complied with the other, the six-year-old pulled one of the first Hardy Boys novels down.

“Papa, this one,” he said, holding the book to Clark and kicking his feet to get down. “They do what Daddy does!”

Dick hummed in agreement, and Tim didn’t seem to care, really, just clutched Clark’s leg as they walked over to the plush sofa in the middle of the room.

“Okay,” Clark said as he sat down. “You guys can sit close to me, but you have to leave room for Damian.”

The boys nodded, and Tim crawled up onto his right knee, laying his head on Clark’s lap and smiling up at him.

“Read, Papa,” he said happily.

Clark was about half way through the novella when Bruce and Alfred came to find them. Tim had fallen back asleep, and Damian was somehow still out. Dick and Jay were so immersed in the mystery, they didn’t even hear Bruce knock.

Dick launched himself off the couch when he saw Bruce come in, giving him not nearly enough warning to prepare for his jumping hug. 

Bruce grunted as he lifted Dick off the ground, squeezing him tightly before setting him back down.

“Good morning, Daddy!” Jason called from the other side of the couch. He had sprawled out completely, one foot on the floor and one up on the coffee table, a pillow tucked behind his back. Clark and Bruce shared a look; it was a position they had seen Jason take up many times as a 19 year old.

Some things never change, apparently.

The commotion roused Tim from his slumber, and he jerked up to a sitting position. The movement accidentally jostled Damian, who woke as well. He didn’t cry, but began to make cooing noises at Clark like he had done to Bruce the night before.

“Good morning, Jay, Dick, Timmy,” Bruce said, yawning. “Clark. How was it?”

“Fine,” Clark smiled, folding the corner of the page he was on just in case they wanted to be read to again later. “They all slept through, even Dami. Although, I imagine he’s getting pretty hungry.”

As if on cue, Damian’s coos began to morph into whimpers, then into full on tears. Clark frowned down at him. “Oh I know, baby boy,” he said. It felt natural, in an odd way, to be taking care of them all. He...didn’t hate it.

Bruce stepped into the room then, reaching out for Dami and taking him into his arms. They all headed down to the kitchen, where Alfred made eggs and bacon.

When they had finished eating, Bruce sighed and turned to the boys.

“What do you want to do today?” He asked, likely hoping to get a basic answer like ‘Let’s play more Mario! Or let’s read more with Papa!’ Instead, he got, from Jason:

“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, Daddy! We need to bake cookies for Santa! You and Papa and Dickie and Timmy and I can do it! Alfie and Little D can help too!”

Alfred was standing at the sink washing dishes. He didn’t fully stop what he was doing, but he did turn his head around slowly, casting Bruce a look that said  _ You brought this on yourself, sir. _

Clark fully expected Bruce to say no, and wasn’t surprised at all when he started to shake his head.

But, unbelievably and yet somehow totally appropriately, all 3 boys puckered out their bottom lip at him.

Jay even managed to bring a few tears to his eyes.

Bruce looked up at Clark, a silent plea in his eyes. Clark shook his head at his fiance, feeling pretty much the same as Alfred. Bruce had asked, now he had to deal with the answer.

He watched Bruce’s eyes narrow at him, then he turned the glare to the boys. Clark really thought, again, that Bruce was going to deny them, but his face softened after less than ten seconds of looking at the puppy eyes of his boys. 

“Okay, we can make cookies…” They all cheered, but Bruce continued. “If all of you agree to help Alfred clean up the dishes when we’re done, alright?”

They nodded their heads enthusiastically and ran out of the room and toward the stairs. Clark pressed a gentle kiss to Bruce’s temple, looking down at Damian in his chair. Alfred had managed to dig up an old wooden high chair that Bruce had apparently used, and to see Dami, the spitting image of his father, waving his arms around from behind the tray was extremely endearing for both Clark and Alfred.

He took a minute to prepare a bottle of formula for the baby, squeezing a drop onto Bruce’s wrist to check the temperature.

“Do you mind going to help them get dressed?” Bruce sighed, looking up at Clark and taking the bottle from him. “Then you can send them down for cookies and get some sleep if you want. You stayed up all night, I can handle this part with them.”

Clark laughed.

“I wouldn’t miss these cookies for the world,” he said, kissing him again. Damian made a squeaking noise as they kissed the second time, almost in disgust. Clark and Bruce both chuckled. It was so appropriate for Damian to be disgusted by PDA even as a clueless infant. Not to mention, so incredibly adorable.

Bruce hushed him by pressing the bottle to his mouth, which Damian accepted and sucked on eagerly. He could hold it by himself for the most part, but Bruce kept a hand on the base of it anyway. He seemed to be just as wary and anxious as Clark, despite actually haven taken care of at least an eleven year old. Clark supposed it was different than a baby though, and patted Bruce encouragingly on the shoulder as he went to follow the boys upstairs.

Getting them dressed was...quite the job. 

Dick did it himself, of course, and was pretty much ready to go within a few minutes. Jason had insisted he, too, could do it himself, but somehow managed to put both his shirt and pants on backwards. Tim had gotten Clark to help him right away, but had cried as soon as he was dressed because he decided he didn’t want a blue shirt. He wanted a red one.

By the time Tim was satisfied with his outfit, and Jason had his on the correct way, Dick was already downstairs. This, of course, upset Tim and Jason because they felt they were missing out. In reality, they came downstairs to find that Dick had been enlisted to dry dishes. The eldest boy stuck his tongue out at his younger siblings as they came in.

Damian had just finished his bottle, so Clark reached down and happily scooped him up. He hooked his arm under Dami’s bum, pressing his chest to his shoulder and tapping very lightly on his back. 

When he burped, the boys all began to giggle. Alfred and Bruce both rolled their eyes, but Clark chuckled too. Damian let out a few squealing laughs as well, and Clark was sure his heart was going to burst.

Once Dick and Alfred had finished up the dishes, they got out the ingredients for sugar cookies and began to mix the dough. Clark bounced Damian for a while while Bruce helped Tim and Jason measure, and Dick controlled the electric mixer. Alfred was very closely supervising them all, ensuring nothing was broken.

When it was all mixed together, Alfred declared that it had to set in the fridge for a few hours, and that they would be able to cut out cookies in the afternoon. The boys were disappointed that they had to wait, so Bruce offered to take them outside for a little while. 

Clark changed Damian and dressed him in a little black onesie and cap they had bought. Then, Alfred offered to take him off of Clark’s hands so that he could at least have a shower. 

Clark took advantage of this offer, and returned downstairs an hour later, just as the boys were coming in from outside.

They had all worn oversized coats, scarves, and mittens, and had made a complete mess of themselves. Bruce’s nose was bright pink, and Clark couldn’t help but swoon at how adorable his fiance was. 

They settled in the living room and decided to play some video games for a while. Tim and Jason even convinced Clark and Bruce to get in on the action, so they took turns playing every other round--the other holding a sleeping Damian-- while Alfred made them all lunch.

At noon, they were called to the kitchen for soup and sandwiches. The boys were very talkative, describing to their caregivers in detail the types of cookies they were going to cut and decorate. Clark thought back to the gingerbread house competition from a mere two weeks before and how competitive they’d been. It was sweet to see them planning their own cookies just for themselves, rather than because they wanted to destroy each other.

All of them helped Alfred this time, save for Bruce who took care of Dami’s feeding, burping, and changing. Then they regrouped in the kitchen and divided the cookie dough.

It took them forty-five minutes just to roll out the dough the first time, and another hour and a half to cut it all into shapes. By the end of it, all three boys were covered in flour and each had likely consumed two or three cookies’ worth of raw dough. 

They were giggling and bouncing about the kitchen though, and Clark honestly couldn’t see even a hint of regret on Bruce’s face. 

While the cookies baked, they all decided to go down to the cave and shoot hoops. Clark was, at this point, feeling very tired. He opted to watch Bruce play with the boys while he sat off to the side and held Damian in his lap.

Damian actually watched them play, giggling every time Bruce had the ball for some unknown reason. Clark’s heart swelled a few times throughout the game, when Bruce randomly came over and booped Damian on the nose. It was so uncharacteristic of Batman, and yet...so totally Bruce. 

Clark felt kind of sad when he thought about them returning to their proper ages. He knew it would be better in the long run, not having to watch their every move and bathe and change them, and he and Bruce both knew that they would all likely be horrified when this was all over, but still. It was nice.

Jason and Tim were content to shoot hoops for a while, but Dick got bored pretty quickly. He decided to go deeper into the gym to where Bruce kept his uneven bars, rings, and crash mats. He asked Clark to come too, to watch him, so Clark followed.

While he sat with Damian, who was now bordering on sleep, Clark thought back to all of the times he’d sparred with Dick and realized that he hadn’t once seen him take to his equipment.

Even as a nine-year-old, his skills were polished and impressive. He moved on the bars and rings like he was born on them, unbelievably strong for a child his age. The crash mats were there to keep him safe, even as an adult, but Clark quickly realized he had no need for them. Every rotation was smooth and calculated, every dismount executed flawlessly. Beyond his strength, Dick had impeccable balance and timing. When the young boy was finally ready to quit, Clark was thoroughly impressed.

He wondered if it would be weird to ask twenty-three-year-old Dick to show him his skills sometime, and wondered if Bruce had ever taken the time to watch him. He felt a sort of pride for Dick, for his son, and knew that if Bruce saw him do what he’d just done, he’d feel it too.

By the time they made it back upstairs, the cookies had finished baking and were almost done cooling. Alfred served them all supper, and when it was all cleaned up, took Damian upstairs to lay him down for a proper nap. Bruce and Clark didn’t protest, wondering if maybe Alfred wanted a proper nap as well.

The butler had whipped up several batches of icing in different Christmas colours, and as the boys sat down to ice the cookies, their faces lit up with excitement.

Clark and Bruce were absolutely exhausted by the time they had finished, staring around the kitchen with wide eyes at the mess that had been made.

“Holy f-” Bruce started to say, but he caught himself. “Um...cow.”

“They’re beautiful!” Dick hollered, throwing his hands up in the air. Clark caught Tim’s hand just before it was shoved enthusiastically into his mouth, covered completely in bright green frosting.

Jason alone was clearly responsible for most of the mess. There was not a limb on his body that didn’t have icing on it. It was in his hair, the white streak turned red to somehow match his eyebrows. Green, red, and white icing was peppered all over his cheeks. He had some behind his ears, and a big streak up his left arm. His shirt was covered in it, and there were definitive hand prints where he had smeared icing on his pants. Even his toes had a few small globs of icing on them.

“Jaylad…” Bruce said softly, observing his second eldest. “Oh, Jay…”

“What, Daddy?” Jason said, smiling broadly. Even his teeth were multicoloured.

Clark couldn’t help but laugh. Bruce picked Jason up against his will and looked toward the door.

“Do you mind at least starting to clean up the other two while I get him clean? I think Jay needs a full bath.”

Clark nodded. It took him less than five minutes to get the icing off of Tim and Dick, then he asked them to help him with the dishes. He moved at superspeed when he could, but still hadn’t quite finished when Bruce returned with a clean and comfy six-year-old.

“Trade off?” Clark joked. Bruce nodded and took the other two upstairs. All of them returned a few minutes later with their own pajamas on, and Bruce called Jay to come with them up the hall.

Clark only had a few minutes worth of dishes left, so when he had finished and changed out of his own dirty clothes, he followed them down the hall. He discovered they were in the library, and knocked softly on the door.

“Come in!” Bruce said, very quietly. Clark was almost certain he wouldn’t have heard him if he hadn’t had enhanced hearing.

He was, once again, not prepared for what was waiting for him on the other side of the door.

Bruce was on the couch, where Clark had been that morning. The same Hardy Boys book was turned upside down on his knee. He had, evidently, been reading to them. It apparently hadn’t lasted very long.

Dick was curled up in the lounge chair next to the couch, his eyelashes fluttering slightly as he slept. 

Jason was on the couch with his ‘Daddy,’ his head leaned up against Bruce’s shoulder. His mouth had fallen open, and Clark could hear him snoring softly.

Tim was with Bruce too, his arms folded up to his chest and his head laying in Bruce’s lap. He was almost silent, not quite asleep but not quite awake either.

Clark stepped into the room as quietly as he could, and Tim shifted. Bruce looked up at him, an unfamiliar expression on his face.

“They’re so…” he whispered.

“Sweet?” Clark said. “Yeah. I mean...I thought I loved them when they were adults…”

Bruce chuckled lightly, stirring Tim slightly who opened his eyes sleepily.

“Hi Papa,” he whispered. He rubbed his eyes and rolled over towards Bruce’s stomach. “Good night Daddy, good night Papa. I love you very much.”

Bruce’s eyes unexpectedly filled with tears as he ran a hand through the toddler’s hair.

“Good night, Timmy,” he said softly. “We love you very much too.”

Tim sighed contentedly, and Clark was sure he was asleep within minutes. 

Clark walked around to the back of the couch, leaning down and wrapping one arm over Bruce’s chest. He was careful not to disturb Jay or Tim as he kissed Bruce’s hair.

“I love you, Bruce,” he said.

“I love you too, Clark,” Bruce returned. “This...this isn’t so bad, really, them being young. Maybe we should...I mean…if you...maybe we could…”

Clark kissed him again.

“I’d love to,” Clark said. “But a baby this time, right? I mean, Dami is literally the sweetest right now. It’d be fun to have a baby around when they’re all older. They could help if we needed it, and he’d have a lot of teachers.”

Bruce nodded.

“Let’s see how this goes, first,” he sighed. “And we’d have to run it by Alfred.”

“Seeing as I found him curled up with Dami on his bed, I don’t think he’d have too much of a problem with it.”

Bruce smiled softly, nuzzling his forehead against Clark’s chin.

“In the New Year, then,” he concluded. “We’ll look into adopting a baby.”

Clark smiled brightly in return and kissed him again.


	24. Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark goes on patrol, Bruce watches the boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more day after this. I hope everyone is enjoying their holidays. 
> 
> Thank you for the support!!
> 
> -Laynee

Much to Bruce’s distaste, Clark went out to patrol Gotham on his own the following evening. The boys had kept them running around the house all day, and now that Clark had had the chance to sleep, he definitely had more energy than Bruce.

“Just keep them playing video games, B,” Clark said, as he attached the cape to the front of his costume. “You can just switch out the game if they get bored. I won’t be gone for very long, and by the time I get back, it will probably be time for them to go to sleep anyway.”

Bruce nodded, looking up toward the rest of the house as Clark spoke. He had Damian in his arms and was gently bouncing him up and down. Damian was looking wide eyed around him at all of the things in the cave, occasionally sticking his arms out and grabbing at things. Bruce had to position himself carefully so that nothing was within reach. He didn’t need Damian shoving a Batarang or a smoke bomb in his mouth.

“I guess I can always ask Alfred, too,” Bruce sighed. He was wearing a simple black hoodie and a pair of jeans, and given that he had pulled Damian away from the sharp weapons, the baby was now tugging and sucking on his sweater string. Clark smiled at little Damian, booping him on the nose and heading toward the exit.

“You can, B,” he called, over his shoulder. “And you can always call me if you need me, too, but I promise you, you really won’t need to ask for help at all. You’re their Dad, and they adore you. Go play with them.”

Bruce nodded and repositioned Damian, grabbing his little hand and waving with him as Clark flew away.

\-----

Clark really wasn’t gone very long. It was Christmas Eve, so there wasn’t a whole lot happening in Gotham. He actually ended up swinging over to his own city as well, just to double check, but there was nothing in Metropolis either. He arrived back at the cave at just after nine o’clock, stripped, showered, and headed upstairs to the lounge.

Just as he had predicted, the boys and Bruce were engaged in a heated game of Mario Kart, Bruce cursing quietly as he tried to control his car. Alfred was laughing to himself with a sleeping Damian on his lap.

“Hey, Clark,” Bruce said, as he came in. “Somehow I’m getting my ass kicked by a four year old.”

Tim laughed hysterically, falling backwards as giggles shook his shoulders. Clark shook his head, a splitting grin on his face. He waited until they had finished the race, then sighed and leaned against the door frame. 

“Time for bed, boys,” he said, rolling his eyes when he was met with a chorus of groans and protests.

“But Papaaaa,” Jason said, falling over after Tim and looking up at Clark with puppy eyes. Bruce looked up at him too, giving him the same sort of look.

“Fine,” Clark said. “It’s Christmas Eve, so you can play one more race, but then Daddy and I are taking you upstairs. If you don’t go to bed, Santa won’t come.”

“And Santa has to come,” Dick said, giving Jason and Tim a knowing look. Bruce widened his eyes at Clark, who raised a brow in confusion. Bruce shook his head, silently saying _I’ll explain later_. 

Three races later, despite what Clark had said, Tim let out a very long, very dramatic yawn. 

“Okay, that’s it boys,” Bruce said, standing up and stretching. “Upstairs, let’s go. You’re all going to stay together in the room next to ours.”

They nodded, rubbing their eyes and getting up. Clark shut off the TV and grabbed Damian from Alfred’s lap. They all made their way toward the stairs. 

“They have a plan,” Bruce murmured as they walked. “Santa is coming tonight, which means he’s breaking into the manor, which means that, as the sons of Batman and Superman, they’re responsible for trapping him, and I quote, “serving justice.”

Clark laughed heartily as Bruce continued.

“So Alfred set up the room so that the three boys can sleep in Jay’s bed, and Dami can sleep on a pad on the floor. Then they’re all right next to us, and you’ll likely hear them if they actually do anything to capture and punish Santa.”

They reached Jason’s room and watched as the three boys ran and jumped into bed, tackling each other and play fighting until Bruce scolded them. 

Once they were all tucked in, including Damian, their faces softened and sleep threatened to overtake them.

Clark and Bruce watched Tim curl up next to Jason, who had one arm thrown over Dick’s chest. They found themselves unable to suppress their smiles. Bruce pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of all of them.

“They’re going to flip shit tomorrow,” he chuckled. “Whenever they return to their normal ages.”

Clark nodded, chuckling as well. “I wonder if they’ll remember it.”

Bruce shook his head. “Probably not, and maybe that’s for the better. They’d be pretty humiliated to find out that we _not only_ had to _bathe_ them, but that they called us Daddy and Papa the whole time.”

They looked in one last time at the sleeping boys, linking hands and sighing contentedly. Then, they made their way to their own room right next door.

As they walked, Clark thought, just to himself, that maybe he didn’t hate magic as much as he thought.


	25. Christmas Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas Day.
> 
> The boys wake up in a slightly compromising position. Bruce opens his gift from Clark, and they all have dinner together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Cannot. Believe. It's. Done.
> 
> I cannot believe it's Christmas either, but this year's been so fucked it doesn't surprise me. 
> 
> I ALSO cannot thank all of you enough. Every kudos and comment means so much to me, and honestly it's so nice to have a group of people I can share one of my passions with, even if I don't know you on a personal level. I just...I love this fandom a lot, and I am so lucky to have been able to interact with those of you that I have.
> 
> If you read this and have an idea or request for a Superbat fic, I'd like to hear from you. I'm not promising that I will do all of them, but I'm looking for some ideas for writing in the new year. If you'd like, you can just comment, or you can email me too at layneeloonfics@gmail.com if you have a long request or you'd like to submit it anonymously. I'd genuinely, seriously love to hear from you guys if there is something you'd like to see me write.
> 
> Anyway, that being said, I hope that you enjoy the final chapter of this series. I know some of them were stronger than others (I had 6 courses of exams, it was miserable and admittedly hard to keep up), but you've stuck with me through the shitty ones and here we are. So again, thank you so very much for your support. I wouldn't have finished this without it, and it was something I really wanted. You're actually the best.
> 
> I also just wanted to say Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year to everyone. I truly hope that you are able to spend time with loved ones this holiday season, whether conventionally or not.
> 
> Probably nobody is reading at this point, but if you are, enjoy some Batfam fluff and humour!
> 
> Love to you all. Stay safe and healthy.
> 
> <3 Laynee

“Tim?!  _ Jay?! _ ”

Clark and Bruce could hear the desperate scrabbling of three grown men from where they sat on their bed. Bruce raised a finger into the air, waiting to hear what both of them had figured they would.

“WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING IN MY BED?!” 

Dick had obviously woken up first, but it hadn’t taken long for the other two to clue in.

“YOUR BED? LOOK AROUND YOU! THIS IS MY BED YOU FUCKING TWAT! WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING IN  _ MY _ BED?!” 

Jason, of course, coming off with not only a few swear words, but insults too. Plus, Clark and Bruce  _ had _ settled them all in Jay’s room the night before, so he had a point.

“Grayson?! Todd?!” 

Damian’s voice was more calm, but still held a sense of urgency. There was more scrabbling and unintelligible yelling.

“LITTLE D, DON’T LOOK AT US!” Dick yelled again. “NO DON’T STAND UP--LITTLE D!! NO! JUST...WHY DON’T YOU...JUST GET UNDER THE BED!”

Even more scrabbling, and Clark and Bruce could only assume he had obeyed.

“DON’T CALL HIM LITTLE D RIGHT NOW, DICK! NOT APPROPRIATE! JESUS FUCK NONE OF THIS IS APPROPRIATE!”

Clark was about to voice his surprise that he hadn’t heard from Tim, when his thoughts were interrupted by a loud, half-groan-half-scream from the neighbouring room that was just shrill enough that it had to be Tim.

“GUYS! I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON OR WHY WE WERE IN JASON’S BED, BUT I DO KNOW THAT I DON’T REMEMBER ANYTHING FROM LAST NIGHT!” 

That was Dick again, and Clark and Bruce shared a thoroughly amused look.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?!” 

His voice was muffled, presumably because he was under the bed, but Damian could be heard over the panicked breathing and groaning of Jason, Dick, and Tim.

“TODD. GRAYSON. EXPLAIN! FATHER?!”

“DAD?! PA?! WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!” 

Bruce actually laughed aloud, pressing a hand to his face. He started to stand up, then they heard Jason again.

“WAIT...OH MY GOD. WE’RE  _ ALL _ NAKED?! WHAT THE FUCK?! OH MY GOD, DID WE FUCK?!” he roared. Mere moments later, Tim groaned again, even louder and more horrified than before.

That was enough to make Clark and Bruce surrender. Bruce made his way over to Jay’s room to explain the situation before they scarred themselves with possible explanations, while Clark retrieved Tim, Dick, and Damian’s now age-appropriate pajamas.

Clark had not anticipated what was waiting for him when he arrived at Jay’s door; neither he nor Bruce had even considered the possibility that the clothes Alfred had procured for the young boys wouldn’t grow with them. In retrospect it was stupid, but Clark couldn’t even be upset.

The whole situation was too damn hilarious.

Jason was in the far corner of the room, a sheet wrapped around his waist and clutched to his chest. His face displayed a mixture of anger and embarrassment, his normally confident demeanor entirely snuffed out. 

Dick was only a few feet from the door, bright red in the face and even more scantily clad than Jason. He had gotten his hands on a towel, which somehow still covered everything it needed to. There just...wasn’t much to spare. At all.

Tim had evidently locked himself in Jason’s ensuite--the door was shut, and he wasn’t anywhere else in the room. That explained why he was so loud; the bathroom shared a wall with Bruce and Clark’s room.

Damian was not in plain sight, but appeared to have actually crawled under the bed, as Dick had said.

Bruce stepped aside, a small grin still on his face, while Clark walked throughout the room and distributed the boys’ pajamas. Tim shyly opened the door and reached only his hand out to accept his from Clark.

“This is great, Pa,” Dick said, taking his from Clark and holding them over the bare skin that the towel wasn’t quite covering. “But what the hell do we do now? If we move enough to get dressed, we’ll see each other naked! I’ve already seen MORE than enough!”

Clark swallowed thickly. Dick had called him  _ Pa _ .  _ Adult _ Dick. Twenty-three-year-old Dick. Twice.

“Turn and face the wall, Jay, Dick,” Bruce instructed, either ignoring what Dick said or not fully registering it. “Damian, when Clark and I have left, you can come out from under the bed. You, Dick, and Tim can get dressed and leave, then when you’re gone Jason can do the same. When you are all decent, as it _ is  _ Christmas morning, please come down and join Clark, Alfred, and myself for breakfast. We will explain everything over our pancakes.”

Jason opened his mouth, but Bruce raised a hand to shush him. He cast a sideways glance at Clark, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Don’t worry, Jason. No, the four of you did not  _ fuck _ .”

Jay and Dick visibly sagged with relief, and Tim could be heard murmuring “oh thank god” on the other side of the bathroom door. Clark laughed aloud as he and Bruce made their way downstairs.

“Did you hear Dick call me Pa? Twice?” Clark asked. 

Bruce frowned.

“I don’t think I did. Are you sure he didn’t just mumble or something?”

Clark shrugged and shook his head. Maybe he hadn’t heard it.

Ten minutes later, the boys wandered into the kitchen. They were clearly still very embarrassed, avoiding eye contact with each other, and with Bruce and Clark.

The first few minutes of the meal were completely silent, until finally Clark couldn’t take it anymore. He explained everything that had happened, from the fight against Klarion, to them plotting to deliver justice to Santa Claus, to them all sleeping in Jay’s room. 

“So Damian was  _ actually _ a baby,” Jason laughed, looking at Bruce and wiping tears from his eyes. “And you  _ actually _ had to change his diapers?!” 

Bruce was poking at his pancakes now, a hint of a blush on his face. Damian had given up eating for the moment, and had his arms crossed over his chest. A lot of the tension had faded once they realized what exactly had happened over the last three days, and why they had woken up how they did, but Damian was clearly embarrassed as hell.

“Hey, none of you can roast anyone else, alright?” Clark interjected, swallowing his bacon and flashing Alfred a bright smile. “All of you were children. We saw all of you naked when we bathed and dressed you, so none of you really have your dignity intact today. Jason especially---you got yourself so covered in icing on Wednesday that we had to bathe you an extra time!”

Jason snorted.

“At least you didn’t have to wipe my ass!”

Damian slouched even further in the chair, and Clark winked reassuringly at him. He did feel sorry for their Robin. In a sense, Dami got the short end of the stick on this one. Clark’s encouragement was enough to make Damian feel a bit better, though, and he sat up in his seat.

“All of you did foolish and childish things, and said foolish and childish things too. You even called Master Bruce ‘Daddy,’ and Master Clark ‘Papa.’ It was rather endearing, actually,” Alfred said, folding his hands together and chuckling lightly.

"Ugh, we reverted?" Dick scoffed. "We haven’t called you those names in years.”

Clark and Bruce shared a look.

“Yeah,” Jay said. “I mean, sometimes I feel like “Dad” and “Pa” are almost too personal. “Daddy and Papa are just...too far, man. Too fucking far.”

Even Alfred had his eyebrows raised at that point, especially when Tim confirmed their suspicions and said: “Hey, Dad, can you pass the syrup?”

Alfred beamed to himself as Bruce obliged, and Clark and Bruce silently agreed that they wouldn’t correct them. It felt...kind of right, after everything.

That particular conversation faded away, eventually, turning into a discussion of the plan for the day. 

\-----

Alfred had decided to prepare their usual Turkey dinner for lunch time, so that Clark could fly him and Bruce over to Kansas to have dinner with Martha.

The boys opened their gifts right after breakfast, and kept themselves busy trying them out for the rest of the morning. Clark and Bruce had gotten them all new tech; Jay a few attachments for both Hood’s bike, and his personal bike; Dick and Tim both received brand new laptops, equipped with enough memory for gaming and software development; and Damian received an upgraded cell phone and a few fancy and authentic Tibetan swords that Bruce had somehow managed to procure.

At around eleven o’clock, Clark took Bruce over to the study, a small green package clutched tightly in his hands.

“I’ll admit, B,” Clark said, as they sat on the couch together. “I really had no clue what to get for you.”

Bruce shook his head.

“You didn’t  _ have _ to get me anything, Clark,” he said. Clark glared at him, though, so he kissed him on the cheek. “But thank you anyway. Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll love it.”

Clark swallowed. He figured Bruce would love the watch, but at the same time felt mysteriously nervous now that it was actually time to give it. He handed it slowly over to Bruce, who kissed him again and took it gently.

When Bruce had torn off the wrapping and saw the black box beneath it, he looked up at Clark. He could tell Bruce recognized the box alone, but there was quite a bit of uncertainty in his eyes, like he couldn't really believe it.

"Clark?" He asked. His voice cracked a little, and Clark was sure he'd never felt so fond of his fiance before.

"Go ahead, B," he said softly. "Open it."

Bruce's hands were shaking slightly as he separated the lid from the box. He didn't say anything when he saw the watch; didn't react at all really at first. He just stared down at it with the same look of uncertainty. 

After a few moments, he gently pulled the watch from the box and held it in his hands. He took a shaky breath, then turned it over.

_ To my son, with love and pride. _

Clark watched as Bruce read the inscription, his breath hitching in his throat. He rubbed his thumb over the engraved words, and his face twisted. He folded his hands over the watch and brought them to his forehead, resting his elbows on his knees. 

Clark's eyes immediately filled with tears, watching Bruce's emotions boil over. He hadn't meant for the watch to make Bruce sob, but there he was, shoulders shaking and completely undone by the gift in front of him.

Clark let him for a few minutes, gently rubbing his back without saying a word. Eventually Bruce sat up again, and started to try and put the watch on, but his hands were shaking too much. 

Clark reached over and, with a slight smile, grabbed Bruce's arm to bring it toward him. He carefully closed the clasp, happy to see it fit him almost perfectly.

Stray tears were still falling down Bruce's face when he met Clark's gaze.

"Thank you," he croaked, his voice cracking again and barely more than a whisper. Clark smiled warmly at him and squeezed his hand. Bruce shifted in his seat and let go of Clark's hand to wrap his arms around him, crushing him in an emotionally fueled hug.

Bruce pressed his face into the crook of Clark's neck and shoulder, and breathed deeply. His flannel shirt became wet with more tears as he just held onto Bruce, letting him cry while he continued to rub his back tenderly. 

They stayed this way for nearly ten minutes, until there was a knock at the open door. 

"Master...Bruce?" Alfred asked, slowly and hesitantly stepping into the room. He eyed the black box on the table, taking a very shaky breath when he saw the watch on Bruce's wrist.

"Oh…" Alfred said, quietly, pressing his hand to his chest. "Oh, Master Clark…did you...?"

Bruce pulled away from Clark at that moment, swiping at his eyes and looking up at Alfred.

"It's his," he said, sniffling loudly. "My guess is Clark sent Wally back in time to get it."

He looked at Clark as he got up to show Alfred the watch, who nodded. "It's a bit more complicated than that, but I'll explain later. Or...maybe I'll have Wally explain. It just...confused me."

Bruce practically  _ squeaked _ at that, somewhere between an actual laugh and another sob.

"Does it… so it has the…" Alfred was stuttering, looking at Clark. Bruce answered for him, pulling the watch off of his wrist and showing Alfred. The butler got emotional then, holding Bruce's hands tenderly in his own.

_ "With love and pride, _ " he whispered. Bruce had to swipe at his eyes some more. 

"Thomas engraved it," Alfred continued. "Not his father. He wrote that for you, Master Bruce, and I…"

Bruce gave up wiping at his eyes and just let the tears fall again.

"I thought you'd never see it."

They were all crying at this point, as Bruce wrapped Alfred into a hug as well, a rare display of affection between them. They pulled apart, and Alfred was the one who fastened the watch on Bruce's wrist this time.

The whole thing had been a lot more emotional than Clark had intended, but he was glad for it.

Alfred excused himself then, having forgotten whatever he had originally come for, and Bruce settled back down on the couch. He continued to stare at the watch as he regained his composure, wiping at his eyes once again as Clark soothed him.

"Thank you, Clark," Bruce said, once he had his voice back. "I can't… I can't believe you and Wally did this for me."

Clark was about to reply, but was interrupted as Dick knocked on the door. 

"What's going on?" He asked. "Is everything okay? I just saw Alfie crying."

Bruce quickly rubbed his face and sniffled, looking up at his eldest son. 

"Everything is fine, chum," he said, the old nickname rolling off his tongue without a second thought. Dick looked taken aback, and Bruce just laughed with a crack of emotion.

"Damnit, Clark," he joked. "This is all your fault. You and your thoughtful gifts."

Clark laughed, and Dick said nothing, staring at Bruce as he cried.

"You've broken Father," Damian said, as he walked in behind Dick. Bruce sighed. His only biological son was apparently still keeping the formalities.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he laughed, standing up and reaching to pull Clark up as well. "I'm assuming that lunch is ready?"

The boys nodded.

"Okay. Go. We'll be right behind you."

Dick and Damian left, then, and Bruce pulled Clark in for another hug and a deep kiss full of unspoken appreciation.

"I don't have the words, Clark, to thank you properly for what you've given me."

"It's not necessary, Bruce," he shook his head. "You've given me a lifetime with you for Christmas, so I'm kind of still feeling the same way." 

"I love you," Bruce said, words almost lost against Clark's neck. Clark smiled.

"I love you too."

Bruce had collected himself by the time they reached the table. Clark figured his eyes might still be a little red, but also assumed that nobody would question him. Alfred still looked a little emotional as they sat to eat, too, but none of the boys seemed to notice.

The food was delicious, as per usual. Alfred had done up a full meal, with touches of British and American tradition. Turkey  _ and _ roast. Potatoes and gravy. Stuffing, corn, and carrots, yorkshire puddings and pigs in a blanket.

They wasted no time digging in, and soon after they’d begun, the room was filled with the warmth of the season.

Clark watched Bruce gaze fondly around the table, his sons and Alfred all laughing as they ate and chatted. Bruce kept fiddling with his watch, smiling and laughing with the boys. There was a rosiness to his cheeks that Clark wanted to stay there forever, a happy glow that Bruce rarely sported. It looked good on him.

Clark chuckled to himself, which Bruce apparently heard.

“What?” Bruce asked, setting down his fork and trying to glare at him through a smile. “Have you got something to say, Clark?”

“No,” he lied, keeping his smugness to himself. “Nothing at all, sweetheart.”

He took another bite of turkey.

Bruce shook his head, crossing his arms and resting them on the table. He looked down at his hands and chuckled to himself.

“Fine,” he sighed. “Fine, Clark. You won, okay? You won. Between the contests, the trips, the lights, music, and the priceless gift you’ve given me, I didn’t really stand a chance. You’ve done it. You’ve officially converted me.”

“To what, Bruce?” Clark said, milking the moment for all it was worth and casually taking another bite. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

Bruce glared at him again, a smile still faintly etched on his face.

“Clark.”

“Bruce?”

Bruce facepalmed, picking up his fork and stabbing a carrot. He held it up, pointing it at Clark’s face and sighing.

“Clark. You have officially converted me to a  _ Christmas person _ . Congratulations. Your mission was a success.”

He ate the carrot with a little more aggression than was necessary, and Clark just laughed.

“Why thank you, darling,” he teased. “I knew I could do it.”

Jason, who had apparently been listening in on their conversation the whole time, nudged Clark on the arm.

“Of course you could, Pa,” he joked. “Dad would do  _ anything _ for you. He’s totally whipped.”

Bruce crumpled his napkin and threw it at Jason’s face, laughing as he deflected it and hit Dick in the face. The two of them launched into a cat fight consisting of petty insults, and Bruce didn’t even bother stopping it. Instead, he took Clark’s hand into his own, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. 

“Merry Christmas, Clark,” he said, and Clark was certain his cheeks would split from smiling so broadly.

“Merry Christmas, Bruce.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are greatly appreciated (and they'll keep me motivated to actually keep writing these :) ).
> 
> I'm so grateful for all of your support in my past works.
> 
> Thanks for stopping by!
> 
> -Laynee


End file.
